Mary Elinda Ditty Burns

My grandmother Mary-- her beauty delicate, her will strong. I never met her but I can see this in her photograph-- she sits tall, her shoulders squared and ready for whatever was to come,  her eyes penetrating and confident and her mouth, determined.   My mother tells me that she had a glorious singing voice and that she loved falling asleep to her mother playing the piano.  What I would give to hear her melodies. 

Grandmother Mary was also an accomplished milliner with her own shop in Pennsylvania. For the early 1920's having her own business was bold.  I love that she posted quotes and notes on her wall and with my magnifying glass, I have tried to decipher what mattered to her.  I know that beauty mattered , music was essential and her children were everything-- she had four of them and gave her life for one of them...

My Uncle Clair, her youngest son, passed away recently and requested that I be given the cast iron stove that was originally in the corner of her shop.  For many years I have studied this photo and admired this jewel of a stove.  To say that I was happy to receive this generous gift, doesn't say quite enough. 

It arrived today after a 5 day journey across the States in this modest red truck with the Pennsylvania plates.  A real and true Pennsylvania treasure!

And here it sits in our garage.  It will need a gentle acid bath and a loving polish but it will be my greatest pleasure to restore it to its original beauty.  My Uncle Clair will be smiling from afar...

  Seeing it is like finding a piece of the puzzle that was part of her world.  And now, in making it part of my world, she will be in it.  Welcome home Grandmother Mary!

Jill's Super Yummy Banana Bread

As I write this, I am biting into the most glorious, moist, flavorful just out of the oven banana bread. It's Jill's yummy banana bread as she calls it and she said that it is good because it's made with lots of love.  I can tell you that love may have something to do with it, but the ingredients make it sensational! Who is Jill and why is she bringing us banana bread?  Let me tell you the story.

Jill and Maury are our new neighbors, one of many that we are now surrounded and embraced by. I will say that this is a neighborhood unlike any other that I have known except perhaps my childhood one.   What is the definition of Neighbor?  One's fellow human being" "A person who shows kindliness or helpfulness toward fellow human beings." Here,  in the vicinity of Amherst and Fairfax, people live up to that definition!  Like Jill and Maury.  Maury knows everything about the neighborhood as they have lived here for 30 years.  They were invited to a dinner party to honor our arrival when we first moved here in January.  The hosts were John and Jennifer across the street... two other fine people that we have the pleasure to know.  It's interesting to sit down with people that you don't know... you can present yourself starting from now and leave out whatever parts of your history you are so inclined.  Jill and Maury have a daughter who is married to a Frenchman (there is always something French going on anywhere we are!) .  Jill and Maury watch their grandson several times a week and so one day when we saw their daughter picking him up, we brought out a bag of Camille's childhood French books.  They were so happy!  A few days later, Jill thanked us with a loaf of banana bread.  Alain and I took our separate bites of that bread and with our eyes rolling around in our heads,  declared it the best we had ever had!  We told Jill and she modestly replied that she just makes it with love.
On Saturday, we had a garage sale and Jill came over.  She is a quiet person and stays inside her home mostly.  But the garage sale gave us a chance to speak a bit more.  She began to tell me about an event she is dedicated to that holds garage sales for leukemia and lymphoma .  I told her that when our sale was over, whatever we didn't sell I would box up and donate to her cause.  Then she started to talk about the Dream Foundation and her daughter Noel.  I didn't know she had a 2nd daughter and she quickly nodded and explained how Noel was invited to speak at a Dream Foundation event to share her dream.  I quickly realized that Noel must be sick.  I gently asked where she was now and Jill quietly shared that she is in the heavens.  She said she passed at the same time her sister had her baby, Noah.  Noah was named for Noel to come in as she exited.  We stood on the driveway with tears in our eyes and all I could think of was that one never knows what goes on behind someone's smiling eyes.  Jill is always smiling but her eyes are sad.

Today, I was thinking of her as I gathered boxes to bring home to begin our organization of items to be donated to her group.  As I came inside the doorbell rang... it was Jill standing out front with a beautiful , warm from the oven, banana bread loaf and the recipe that I asked for.  I smiled and teared at the same time and expressed my joy at her wonderful good deed.  After we hugged she did a little jump and squeal of joy --an act of kindness completed!   I closed the door and began to cry.  Ever since we moved into this neighborhood, we have experienced nothing but kindness and I will continue to say and believe that kindness is one of the great healers.

A moment later, the church bells began to ring and as I always do, I stood in the garden with my face to the sun and gave thanks to the heavens for all the goodness granted us.

Random

No definite aim, no direction, no rules, no method. Random. Madness. Kindness. Senseless.

If I were defining a writing style, I would say words and phrases thrown together. Scrambled. Hidden messages. Disorder that takes the reader out of his/her comfort zone to see beyond what is written.    

If I were speaking of an act or occurrence, I would say from where I stand it might seem inexplicable/random. Then I might add, that if I could stand somewhere else, I might see the order in it.

On the calendar, February 11th has always recalled the memory of my first important date in high school. It took place at the Pierpont Inn. I was 16. I wore a sweet red and white floral, floor length halter dress with a red collar. My first dance that night was to "You're Still A Young Man" by Tower of Power and it was the first time I would feel a boy's hand on my bare back.

Now, February 11th has added a new memory and one not so pleasant. I was returning from seeing Baryshnikov in a play by Anton Chekhov about a man who is extraordinarily orderly and never makes exceptions to the rules. (Later, the irony of this is not lost on me.) I am now 56. I wore a black pencil skirt and cardigan. The music was playing but I don't remember the song and the hand I felt was Nancy's hand in mine. I remember several loud sounds and then I remember a silence so quiet I wondered if we had been transported far beyond the boundaries of this planet. There was white nothingness and clouds of smoke that choked me into a reality I wasn't ready for. It all happened so fast. Nothing orderly about it. Random.

When our car was hit by the energy/force of the 100 mile an hour impact, it sent us against the wall and then across 5 lanes in a matter of seconds.  We couldn't see anything and in the moment that carried us floating across the lanes of 101, Nancy asked/screamed what she should do.  I said, "Hold my hand."
Feeling her hand in mine was an attempt to find comfort/order. But really, it was the act of letting go while holding on. Every other part of me let go and to a place I had never been.

When we came to a stop, I thought it was over and we were safe. I hurt everywhere and I hoped everything was attached.  But there was still more terror to endure as we were escorted to an unmarked police car and told to get down on the floor. It began to dawn on me that we were innocent pawns in a police chase and that we had stopped the getaway car. My eye glasses had flown into the back seat of Nancy's car so I couldn't see anything in the night. I think that was a blessing... I know it was, for when they were found and given back to me I saw 30 or more rifle carrying policemen running and shouting --chasing the 3 gunmen who were on the loose. I wish I could tell you I was brave, but I was whimpering quietly on the floor of that car and shaking from the shock of it all.  How did we get in the eye of this storm? If we had just left the theatre a bit earlier or a bit later. Random.

Three weeks have passed and I am now standing in a different place, but I do not see order in any of this. My body is working on healing but my mind is still struggling.  Randomness gives meaning and simultaneously, takes it away. I am trying to bring order to everything I do and then I laugh at the absurdity of that. Mostly, I sleep and ice and laugh/cry.
And also, I look a bit longer into the eyes of my loved ones.

HOME IS PEOPLE

Alain and I bought our first home on Archer Way in 1986.  When we had friends over, they marveled about how perfect it was for us but when we had Dave over, I could see him reworking the kitchen and family room in his mind. It was always our dream to have Dave build a home for us but we were young and just starting our journey into the world of work, earnings and responsibility. Within one year, all of that changed with Dave's project on Bella Vista Court in Los Gatos. We squeezed through the loan process and into our first Flick home…our dream came to life! Little did we know at that time that our dream would be a recurring one! After Bella Vista Court came Francesca Court and after that came Quail Hill Road. He helped us on Kellogg Avenue and then the beautiful remodel on Palo Alto Avenue became one of his finest pieces of work.  When we sold this home, I grieved and I believe part of that grief came from knowing that he would never be involved in our future homes again.

Over the past 8 months, we have looked for a new home… sometimes it was a half-hearted search thinking that no home could ever live up to a home that Dave was a part of. Searching for a new home then, became a soul-searching process as well.  The places in our hearts that are emptied by grief, have to be replenished.  It doesn't mean our love for anyone is replaced, it is just that we have to find a way to love differently.

Our home search took us to many beautiful Spanish- style homes and each one felt familiar --like it would work fine for us and yet my heart stayed still.  I finally realized that I was gravitating toward what we had known and not toward what we needed to discover. Magically, Amherst Avenue came on the horizon!  The moment I stepped inside, my heart began to beat! I couldn't wait to bring Alain to see it and I thought about how Dave would approve of it.  It was originally built in 1950 and had been completely restored in its' mid-century modern glory by the owners.  We made an offer to buy it and we were on our way!  Now if we could only involve Dave in some way…. and so, on our offer letter, we decided to set the closing date to December 27, 2013--Dave's 56th birthday!

Today, we are thrilled to own Amherst Avenue.  Dave and all our friends and family will be with us in spirit as we sit on a bench and dine from a tray table tonight.  What I know is that home is people and not just a place.  I will close my eyes and see what is no longer there and with a full heart will welcome all that is to come!

Moving Again!

In between homes and living in this "canyon" on Greenwood Lane has created a kind of stand-still feeling that has begun to feel uncomfortable recently. I'm not good at standing still and I don't ever want to get good at it!  I decided that I needed to jump into action and dance.

The mad search for my old dance bag began. The contents of the first one I found are pictured above.  High heel dance shoes and knee pads!  Can you imagine?  I could barely bend over after this class I had just taken and there were those knee pads staring up at me.  Tears sprang to my eyes as I stared at these archeological findings of my youth.  I closed the bag and reminded myself that I'm not going back but going forward.  When I found my next dance bag, it looked more friendly; low-heeled shoes and a knee brace.  I smiled and felt hope!

 My motto in this process is simple: no excuses, just go to class. This is my 2nd week and I still want to cry each time I finish class--happy tears because I'm doing something good for myself and sorry tears because I hurt so much.  The emotion lasts for a few minutes and then I remind myself to be kind, to take two Motrin and to head home to a hot epsom salt bath.  I've never taken yoga, but it is now my good friend as it helps me put myself back together on my off-dance days.  With all of this, I'm finding my way out of the "canyon" so to speak!

I like the quote: "Never stop looking for what's not there."  In the case of subliminal vs. conscious, I am working to keep my eyes open to life's silver lining opportunities.  They are the there in the what's not there!  In light of that, I kept hearing a voice say, if you are so uncomfortable, then move!  So, I'm doing just that--moving again!

Travelling Home: A Dream

Finally, in a very deep sleep, I dreamed of him.  It has been two years since he left us to travel the heavens and light the stars and whenever he comes to visit me in my dreams, I am grateful.

 I miss him.

It was night when the gathering outside finished and I returned to the table to make sure all the candles had been extinguished.  The crickets were in full chant and there was a bit of a chill in the night breeze. The chill moved around me starting from my toes and finishing near my shoulders--it made my shoulders lift and my head look up to the stars.  Before I could register it, he was standing next to me.  I'm never startled by these visits; they seem quite natural.  He had a small box with him and as he put it in my hand he said, " I need your help. Open the box!"  I lifted the lid slowly and inside was the most beautiful round cut, pale blue stone I had ever seen.  In its center was a sunset pink color that swirled like liquid and I wondered if I was looking at a piece of heaven.  He asked me to take it and put it on her finger... that in doing so, it would allow him to come home.  He wanted to come home. I took the box in my hand and we smiled at one another lovingly.  

While the dream ended there, fragments of it have stayed with me for days.  We have all been far from home at some point, wanting to get back--dreaming of all that is home.  As I continue to search for my own understanding of it, I imagine a place where all the hearts of our loved ones gather-- a kind of love compound where we can visit at will.  Whether it's a night lit by candles or a day warmed by the sun, we can travel there as long as our hearts and minds stay open to all those we love.

Dream! Let your heart be the box... open it and travel home.

Love, Letters, and Lemon Drops!

We have a black 18th century bureau plat (writing desk) with a red and gold tooled leather top that is one of my greatest treasures. By itself, it is an object of beauty but its function is of equal if not greater importance. It's drawers hold bundles of ribbon-tied letters and 18th century French hand fans that speak of love, poetry and clues of what the past held and the future might hold. It is a majestic moment to sit at the desk and carefully untie the ribbons that bind the letters and the many carefully chosen words that lie therein.  As memory fades a bit with each passing year, I am so grateful for the written word so that I can close my eyes and feel a special moment come back to life.

 I decided to go through some of the letters in my desk recently and I came across  a letter that Camille wrote in 1998.  Two lines stood out on the page when she wrote, "I love you so much. But I am still having fun without you." There was a healthy confidence in those words and an independence that would show up more and more in her future years. That my parents could offer her an experience filled with such joy was all our good fortune.

Last weekend we all met at Lucky's and shared another  precious moment. I love this restaurant for many reasons but just stepping through the door with my family makes me feel lucky that we still enjoy being together and that we still can be together.  We tell stories and remind each other of things we might have otherwise forgotten and we love our lemon drops!
I worry that with people writing less and less, we will have more difficulty in remembering all the small nuances of certain times of our lives. Like printed photographs, letters give us a snapshot of a moment. And further, the written word allows us to close our eyes and give our own visual interpretation to the memory.  "Love you again" can play over and over in my mind and take me back to the time when Camille was 10, I was 41 and my mother was 79.
It is my hope that my thoughts will inspire us all to sit at a desk from time-to-time and with a pen in hand, write the words to one another that will become precious investments for the future-- a way to  capture and rejoice in times past.