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Monday, May 4, 2009

Colors



I cannot pretend to be impartial about colors. I rejoice with the brilliant ones
and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns.


Winston Churchill

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Memorials
I lost my mom to cancer in the springtime, when the tulips were blooming and all the foliage was coming back to life. I think of Miss Fancy Pants when I see Tulips and Hydrangea and other signs of spring, and this makes me very happy. And a bittersweet kind of sad. My father passed away many years before Mom, and there are many things that remind me of him as well. When kids are eating loudly I think, "my dad would have HATED THAT". And when I see certain actresses that he made lusty comments about I laugh. In my mind I can hear "ADRIENNE BARBEAUUUUUU" in his deep voice and see his bright eyes and raised eyebrows. (My dad was a difficult man, but he could be pretty darn funny and had the greatest facial expressions). I have mementos of both parents scattered around my house and they truly are with me all of the time. I have things like the old oil lamps my mom restored and an antique side table she loved. I had saved many cards and letters she sent me through the years, and cherish every one. There is a collection of books from when my dad was at Princeton studying English with notes in his handwriting on the sides of the pages that I feel incredibly lucky to have.

I read an Emily Dickinson poem this morning, that really got me thinking on this subject, so bear with me and I will post it at the end. It is called MEMORIALS and she states beautifully, in way fewer words, what I am trying to express here. There are things that have emotion and memories attached to them that are priceless. Some of them are tangible like cards and books, others more sensory like sounds and aromas. It is hard to believe when a loss is fresh, that we will ever find relief in these things, but eventually it becomes natural. I smile when I remember my parents and even if I didn't have the many physical reminders to look at and touch, There are "Memorials" everywhere. I know that every time I hear certain sayings I will smile and think of my Mom, because she had a million of them. And every time someone uses improper English I will always think of my Dad and how it hurt his ears to hear it. Now that spring is here my Moms memorial can be seen everywhere, and I hope when you see the Tulips and Hydrangeas and all of the trees turning green, you are smiling with me.
The Emily Dickinson poem I promised:
MEMORIALS
Death sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With "This was the last her fingers did"
Industrious until
The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then't was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.
A book I have a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased him,
At rest his fingers are.
Now, when I read, I read not,
For interupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.