Remembrance @ MindSay 
day
Bernie Marek died. He was one of my art professors in college. In fact his transcendent work and gentle spirit gave me a lifelong love of working with clay and led me to understand the deep connection between the art we make and out hidden psyche. His weeklong gestalt workshop was one of those change forever for the better experiences that we can count on one hand.
After teaching in the small women’s college he went on to the Nairopa Institute in Boulder and continued to touch people with his mind, emotions and passion for being in the moment. As a practicing Buddhist and a member of the Jewish renewal community he combined his early religious roots with an abiding respect for peace, kindness and hope.
It got me to thinking about the other gentle and not so gentle souls I have seen leave this earth. My first conscious experience with death was when my brother’s best friend, Barry, died from a brain tumor as a young teen. Bob and I never discussed the impact it had on him, But his grades took a dive, he stopped pitching on the baseball team and no one connected the dots. Little did I know that early that I was being raised in the shadow of early loss. I was conceived as the replacement child for my parents first born. A blonde extroverted beloved little girl named Sandra. And that burden continued to haunt me into my late 30’s when my mother in her grief was always getting photos of us at infants confused, It took tens of thousand of dollars of therapy and insight to break those mourning ropes and finally come to peace with the mess my mother always made of loss. And I was determined to not make the same ghosts haunt me. So my first contemporaries death that really shook my world was Brenda Watson. Brenda was a friend and a colleague and a mentor. She taught me that there was far more than being right when working with people. That compassion and encourage ment were the consultants best friend. When she died in her 30’s from brain cancer I decided to begin volunteering to places where Brenda had worked. I wanted to fill some of the professional gaps left by this wonderful woman. And I brought attempted to bring her concept of generosity and praise to my work. At her Denver memorial service the packed chapel was asked to sing Morning has broken and with sobs of joy for her life and sadness for the loss of it we sang as we walked into the bright Denver winter afternoon.
I knew then that shivah and embracing the ritual Judaism affords us for mourning were critical elements for me and I began observing Yahzeits and Yizkor and never shrunk from a funeral or condolence call/note or visit. I perfect my funeral food to bring to the bereaved weeks after all the other meals dried up. Where my mother had failed miserably at facing death of those she cared for I began excellent. And so I was proud when I could officiate at a women’s shabbat service on my father’s yahrzeit and tell people how proud he would be of me and how I was continuing the generations of jewish ritual handed to me by my grandmother Pauline.
When my mother got more and more frail, I was the only one of the four siblings who would sit with her and talk plainly about death and learn what she wanted and didn’t want. And so when she finally faded quietly away in between my sister’s visits, I knew what she wanted and was able with my sister to make it all happen and protect her desires with humor. Even giving a eulogy that would have made her smile.
The reform Jewish liturgy has a beautiful passage about life being a journey and death not a destination but part of that journey. It’s a small comfort when I think about the loss of beautiful and brilliant Emily Saslow and all the pain she felt that made her no longer want to live. And how fully I understand that pain and how fully I also know the joy of living. I am glad I am here to say it outloud.
And so I think, this Sabbath, about Sandy, Pauline, Barnie, Amy, Stephanie, Brenda, Lennie, my own baby Nikki, one grandchild to be, Emily G, Gloria S, Virginia, Ann, Pat, Marsha, Emily S, Nellie, Hilda and who knows how many I have forgotten (forgive me)… your lives have been a blessing.
So today was rather BLAH to put things mildly....I can't explain it either...it's not like the weather was bad or anything, it just seems like the whole day is gone and nothing was accomplished...I really don't like days like these, because it makes me feel like it was wasted....
When you think about it...how many days have you spent just wasting your life? I think this is quite sad that there are days when nothing happens and you pretty much just forget the day ever happend in about a week. The whole day is just erased from your brain without so much as a thought left behind....that's 24 hrs of your entire life that you just won't ever get back...eh, such a waste...oh well.
Lookie at what I made...
go ahead and click it! :D It takes you to my myspace group....which by the way is doing pretty good...i'm actually kinda glad I made a place for people to just hang out...it makes me happy...:)
You should come visit....
Well, It's happening again. I know within the next few months my best friend will be no more.. it's happened time and time again. now it's happening again. he has found new friends that are more like him and more into stuff he does. So, there will be no more katie in his life. he says that that will NEVER happen.. but I know it will. I've gone through it so many times. I hate it. I hate changing friends. I just wish everything would work out for once. but they never can. god.. I hate life right about now. and everyone is having drama and coming to me and I swear to god i'm about to explode with emotion and it wont be pretty. I don't really want to be alive anymore.. but yet I do. if that makes sense. it's so confusing. grr. I want to swim again and maybe all of this will go away. next week. I just have to deal with this for one more week. Then hopefully it will all just go away. blah.. i'm angry.. [end of katie's rant]
</3 Katie
And in my diggings, I run across my Nike sweatshirt. And I'm so caught by it that the words must be caught here, however briefly.
To the eyes of anyone, there is absolutely nothing remarkable about it. It's black, with a zipper, big pockets, and no hood. Exactly what I was looking for. I found it at one of the thrift stores I tended to frequent, and asked my Mom to lend me the money for it, since I'd spent mine getting my little sister a birthday present. I tried it on for her, it was too big. Perfect. Summer then, the summer of my sophomore or junior year. No need for it in August, but as soon as I saw it, I knew it was exactly what I wanted.
I don't often like it zipped, but the weight of it hangs easily over me. It doesn't particularly keep the wind out, but it holds my heat to me, and offers the protection I need for the woods. And that's what this shirt is most to me.
I can be in almost any environment. I can be pretty, another mall-girl blending in. Sassy and provocative, dancing with my girlfriends. Trusting and warm with the ones I love. Formal and adult in performance. Giddy and carefree (akin to careless) with delight over every new discovery. None of them are costumes - they're all facets of the real me. That took some time to learn. But a facet closest to my core, if not the core itself, is a quiet, solid explorer.
Autumn. Every time someone asks what my favorite season is, it's always the next one. Summer is delightful, with the lake and friends, but fall is wonderful. Just enough chill in the air that I need my sweatshift. Walking through the woods, wandering where I wish, exploring everything. This sweatshirt goes with me everywhere until it's warm again (in MN, the warm season is about four months long, maybe five), but it's the woods I think of most. Ground covered in leaves, so that no matter how you walk, it seems to be something of a shuffle. The sky is somehow bluer in autumn, the colors of the world are truer. They're like people who've just left high school, and are starting to realize that they don't have to declare their identity every day.
I hug my shirt to me, listening to my music. "Le Petit Fille De La Mer". It's one of 'my' songs. It's who I would be if the lake never froze over. I breathe in the scent of wood smoke (more autumn) and leaves and trees. I love the scent of fallen leaves, and I can see the trees and sky around Oxbow, Gooseberry, Fort Wilderness, Camp Lebanon, and all the places I've explored in autumn.
Exploring the world. That's who I wanted to be when I got this shirt. I was never going to get married, because I was certain that there was no one in the world who would like exploring the way I did - who'd enjoy the quiet voices of the woods. Everyone else was either exploring bigger things, or didn't care for getting too dirty. They wouldn't be content in the woods. I was perfectly content in the woods by myself, just a little bit of curiosity that kept me going to see what was over this hill, and up this gully. No one else I'd met understood that, and it didn't particularly bother me that I didn't think anyone would. Being with someone who didn't understand would spoil it.
This shirt I can get muddy, and covered in bits of bark and tree-sheddings. I wear my hair loose with it, and there's a confident flow to the way I walk in the trees. I don't try for it, it just happens. I get quieter, but it's not that I'm more introverted. Far to the opposite - I'm more aware of everything around me, and I don't need to change it with my thoughts or words. Just watch. Listen. Explore.
Bury my face in it. It smells like the autumn me, and my dad. And more than that, my grandpa.
I rarely discuss my grandpa with anyone. Just doesn't come up. My mother's father. He died when I was about fourteen. This isn't the place to describe everything he meant to me, but he was a hard worker, and we'd work at the cabin together. In the woods. There's some scent of smoke, and a very faint trace of motor oil. It's my grandpa. I can't explain how - I never got the chance to wear the shirt around him.
I know our own scents are at least partly hereditary. I've had to do a double-take on my sister's best friend before, because she comes in and one of my best friends (her older sister) seems to be in the room, too. Just the scent. I'm not sure how much of mine comes from my family, but it makes something in my world a little better to think that I've got some invisible detail of both my dad and my grandpa as a part of me.
It's nothing remarkable. It's just a black zip-up sweatshirt. Big pockets, cut on one side, a small burn on the other. It's big on me, and brings out a more casual attitude. It's fall and woods and smoke and me. It's me.
As I step out of the cryo-casket
I’ll look at my surroundings
With the curiosity of the newborn
Everyone I’ve known will be gone
Friends and family will lie under the ground
In some unknown cemetery
I’ll be in a world full of wonders
Where laws might be different
And customs strange
I’ll remember Mindsay
With all its members
Full of wit, humour, sarcasm
Qualities we now take for granted
Won't be known
In that future world
The internet might be part of the past
Replaced by a holographic, virtual reality world
Where anything happens
What is normal now
Might be illogical in that world
And the unusual will rule
I’ll remember you all
When I step out
Of that cryo casket
Into a science fiction future
Full of marvels
And unending surprises
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