Sunday, November 25, 2012

Grieving Gets Easier, and Here's How!!!!



You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast


1. blogger's block
2. pumpkin pie
3. weight room at the Y w/my man
4. days in jammies
5. great friends and in-laws that adore my children
6. the cardigan that wouldn't quit
7. blues for breakfast piped over the internet all the way from Eugene Oregon (how twisted is that?)
8. falling asleep, just one night, listening to a bit of music on WBEZ, thinking about the constant grief and torn-up loss that is the Torey Malatia killing-off of 8PM-4AM music programming, jazz & blues, every night of the week (was that 2006?)....recent news?
9. considering, to myself, that after all these years, I'm more hurt over WBEZ in a sort of way, than that of losing my Dad just two months ago.  Why?  Because, of course, Dad was ready. So ready. And although everybody with an earbud, an iphone and an itunes account could care less about quality radio programming, the whole affair broke my heart, to it's little core.
Winter 2011
10. sun. day in and day out. Glorious sun.  Drought in sixty percent of the lower forty-eight? Ouch.  But for today, we get out and enjoy this amazing weather. What else can we do?




Saturday, November 10, 2012

Fantasia: Midcentury Home Lust

Is this what grieving is about?  I go from one obsession to another, with intermittent periods of complete exhaustion, sometimes sadness and burnout, and lots of crank as in cranki-ness.  Ouch, this is hard. And whoever in the world remains friendly with me, well, I'll be thankful for that...more than the mountains and the trees and the ocean and anything else.  I need friends. This, at least, has been established.
Here's a photo display of the last two weeks' escapade.  For some odd reason, I dragged Peter to an open house about two weeks ago, and promptly, as we walked into the home I teared up and Peter announced that the house had an uncanny resemblance (actually, a reminder) of our midcentury ranch in Vermont.


  So we descended into the land of Fantasia.  
Have Topiary?
The house is stunning and remarkable.  Impeccably maintained since the 1950's by one lovely family, everything from wallpaper to midcentury furniture to clean wood panelling and a massive basement that contains a full wet bar and deco backdrop. 

And if we had a wet bar...what would we do...open a bar?  Yes!!!!
Each of it's five (yes FIVE) bathrooms is tiled in a different retro color (you know the drill, mauve, pink, green, black) tile and many lovely showers with glass doors and festive matching wallpaper and built-ins galore. 


wallpaper, wallpaper, wallpaper!
We were fortunate, today, to spend some quality time in the place to explore and really feel out the possibilities and drawbacks. 
A visit, tour, fantasia continues...Dig the stainless gutters, wrought iron railings, and poodle sculpture!
 What's not to love?  Well, I guess first and foremost is the fact that we like our life here just enough that any move within the same community seems like a big freakin' deal and not really worth it.  And probably the biggest barrier of all is that every horizontal-emphasis house in our sweet community sort of lacks the indoor outdoor flow that makes a midcentury ranch style house lovely.  Situated sideways on long/narrow Chicago style lots, we lose the all-important patio/backyard indoor meets outdoor feel. 

Eichler: the gold-standard
 And so it goes.  It's just not the right time, but it was nice to dream a bit for a few days.  Here's to hoping that someone can do something wonderful with this house, but I insist that I'm the only person in Oak Park who could completely realize the dream that is this home.  Just about anybody else is gonna rip and tear and you-know-what.  And so goes another lost set of memories.  Do I want to spend the rest of my life keeping the memory of this particular house alive?  Not sure...so...practically speaking...not exactly what we should be doing for the next five, ten, fifteen years. I wandered from room to room, cabinet to cabinet, the reality that this is not the time or place settled in.  So I reverted to my former self...the one that loves estates and experiences and tiny items, things that can stir our memories or dreams from the past.  Although most of the house is entirely cleaned out, except for the beautiful furniture and quite a few pieces of art on the walls, there were a few cabinets that still contained the accoutrements of the owners past lives.  Take, for example...tucked away in a corner basement cabinet, a stack of sixties style knitting magazines, right next to a stack of horse magazines.

It's the FIESTA hand-knit pattern-book!
  I grabbed one, and it was a jarring image, perfect knit table dresses, each named after a place in Latin America.  One page, with lovely script handwriting from the owner of the house, I snatched without hesitation.  And so a piece of my lovely dream-house did come home with me.  And maybe, some day, I'll make a dress...maybe a dress called: Vera Cruz.  Yeah, I like the Vera Cruz, it's a coat with ribbing and a swanky collar.  It'll do, and when I wear it around town, I'll think of the most fabulous, well loved house in the corner of our town, a house that a family loved and loved and cared for and filled with valuable objects and memories.
And if that house, by that time, is gone or dramatically transformed, I'll pinch myself and remind myself that I can't do all the work.  In fact, I can only do a little tiny bit of the work. The work, that is, the work that is required of all of us, all of the time.  So...In the midst of grieving the loss of my Dad, and trying to keep his memory alive, and to honor his own experiences and where he came from and what he shared with me and our community....Is it truly prudent for me to throw myself in an entirely different direction and try to keep the memory alive...the memory of a Nice Educated & Stylish & Careful  Jewish Family in a big swag house in Suburban Chicago Area?  Probably not.  It's not my work.  My love and appreciation are there, but I can't rescue a house that holds a beautiful grand piano and needlepoint pillows and paintings and tile and stainless steel gutters and a great big Saarinen Table in the Kitchen. It ain't me, babe, It ain't me....at least...I don't think so!

Friday, November 9, 2012

Encumbered Much?

LF, I know you're out there, and it tickles the cockles of my heart to think that you're checking the UW to see what's new.  Appparently, not much these days, isn't that the way it goes?  Dear friend Michael, days ago, introduced me as the blogger, "The Unencumbered Woman".  He had to go and spoil my rep and include that he believes me to be about as encumbered as a person could get.  Oh Well...but isn't that the point!  How do we play at this feeling of lightness and being in the moment, when in fact, so much of life, for all of us, is heavy, taxing, and difficult.  So for me, today, it was about turning my run into a walk, turning off the telephone, and watching a documentary.  Sometimes a little wallowing in nostalgia and emotionalism can assist in the process of lightening the load, however heavy it feels at times.
So here, my contribution to emotional heft, after a delightfully indulgent viewing of Who is Harry Nilsson?
If it's a movie review that you'd like, I'll keep it simple.  Boy grows up poor and abandoned in Brooklyn, flees to the west coast, meets up with industry types and hits it big with his one-in-a-bajillion-white-boy-voice.  The industry takes himself down, as it will do vis-a-vis vices & dashed hopes and dreams.  Somehow he makes it to his mid-fifties, and everybody from Ringo to Robin Williams fondly remember the roustabout nights engineered by our sweet artist.  For some reason, his young Irish wife provides the anchor for his chaos, although she does nothing to lengthen his life or shorten his self-abuse.  Alas...there he goes, but not without leaving us some badass music.  Go ahead, listen and remember, whatever it is that it all stirs up for you.