Rosie- An Inspired collage...Four Years...xoxo

 I love you Rosie...

A Memory of Rose, who passed away three years ago.

Rose and I decided to be in a talent show together. Most likely she talked me into it. We always sang together, so of course we chose to sing a song. She sang the low notes I sang the high. I had such stage fright. She held my hands and we faced each other and sang the song below.  And now whenever I hear it, I smile a bit and I cry a bit, thinking of her and her strong hands and her beautiful belt-it-out voice. The way she did so many things with such force and passion inspired me then and it continues to inspire me now. I love you, Rosie. Thank you.


Under African Skies


Joseph's face was black as night 
The pale yellow moon shone in his eyes 
His path was marked 
By the stars in the southern hemisphere 
And he walked his days 
Under african skies 
This is the story of how we begin to remember 
This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein 
After the dream of falling and calling your name out 
These are the roots of rhythm 
And the roots of rhythm remain 

In early memory 
Mission music 
Was ringing 'round my nursery door 
I said take this child, lord 
From tucson arizona 
Give her the wings to fly through harmony 
And she won't bother you no more 

This is the story of how we begin to remember 
This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein 
After the dream of falling and calling your name out 
These are the roots of rhythm 
And the roots of rhythm remain 

Joseph's face was black as night 
And the pale yellow moon shone in his eyes 
His path was marked 
By the stars in the southern hemisphere 
And he walked the length of his days 
Under african skies

one last love- Happy Valentines Day, Rosie

The other day I was sitting in the fancy, brand spanking new, studio arts building (whose concrete steps are already cracking (shame on them) which made me think of my brothers-in-law who would never have allowed that to happen...). Anyway, I was sitting there in the sunshine, waiting for my class to begin and rereading articles, when I thought to myself, I should write a letter. To someone. I used to do that frequently, just a few short years ago. But wait, who will I write to? Rose, I thought, I will write to Rose. Honestly, I thought that, for a millisecond. It's like a habit- a muscle memory, these reactions I have to tell her something. To reach out to her. And, of course I could write to Rose. But I can't send it to her. She is not on this earth, in human form.

But those links below will lead you to her voice and her tremendous love story. I have the links but I can't bear to listen right now.

Rose on NPR#1- woman finds love in spite of herself

#2- one last love

P.S I know it is not Valentines Day yet, but I am in no position to assume that I will have time tomorrow to do anything so...

this bears repeating

Thanks Constantina, for introducing me to Li -Young Lee. Two years and 15 days ago Rose passed away. And for a couple weeks now I have been thinking about the right words.

I cannot read this poem without tears.

From Blossoms
-by Li-Young Lee

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

***

The Story in Images

Just starting out...

U.Mass. Boston Campus

heading towards the city

Downtown

heading towards Jamaica Plain

And this is where my sister's camera stopped working for me. 

Basically, we walked into Milton and then Canton? And by then we were in country. I "slept" in a tent in the rain. I could barely walk. At that point, everyone was hobbling around. My tent-mate introduced me to some of her friends and invited me to join them the next day. Alleluiah! Seriously. By then I was lonely and sore, and I needed the company to make it. It really helped. 

During this walk, there were several times when I believed that I could go no further. After the first night I was certain that I would not walk at all the next day. But, I set out with everyone else. Then, I was sure I would only do a few miles, but I made it to lunchtime. Where I almost hopped on a bus. Somehow, I did all 39 miles. It was amazing. I amazed myself.

My sister Amy, met me at the finish line. She got us a cab and took me to a lush hotel in the financial district where I , under serious delusional, endorphine -crazed, duress, told our teenage mini-bar stocker, that "it's okay, you're so cute" when  he mistakenly walked into our room without knocking. As soon as the words came out, my face turned scarlet and I asked Amy if I had just said that out loud. Then I got into the enormous bathtub and stayed there. After a bath and a shower, A. and I, walked and limped, into the Northside for yummy pasta. Then at 7:00 pm, I passed out. 

I am so glad I did this. I hope to do it again in a few years and would love to have company. I would do it sooner if I did not have to raise so much money. Fundraising is hard. My parents shelled out a lot for me to do this. Thanks mom and dad! And thank you to everyone who was able to donate! And even those who weren't! I love you! And Rosie, I love you and I know you are out there, cheering me on every day. I feel it.  

The Walk Part One

Wow.

On Friday the 15th, I took a bus to Boston. Moll met me at South Station and we dropped off my gear at Amy's house. We had fun for a bit trying on Amy's many lip glosses, swigging vodka from her freezer, eating her yogurt and farting on her bed. Just kidding about that last part. But you know, when you have the keys to your big sister's apt. you just have to take advantage.  We stole a few packs of gum and hit the pavement. Which, in hindsight, was sort of stupid because I was going to be walking 26 miles the next day. But hey, when in Rome...So Molly and I and her hilarious roomies, Val and Moll's adorable boyfriend Noah, hung out. We got frozen yogurt at Berryline in Cambridge, amazing stuff. Then, when My feet were already good and sore, we met Amy at some Mediterranean restaurant and got an enormous platter of delectable goodies, mishis, hommos, dips, pita, tabouleh etc. Amy later mentioned that Molly and I ate so quickly and  piggishly that the only thing stopping her from vomiting was that we actually used our forks. We were hungry, I guess. After that meal I was full and yet we had to stop at this ice cream place that has the most interesting flavors. Ever heard of grape nut flavor? Nope? So good. Ice cream that manages to be chewy.  Or burnt caramel. Yum. Finishing that cone was work. Then I went to bed and woke up at 4 am. A cab at 4 am is eerie, in a good way. My driver went through all the lights. I sat in the clean cab and my mouth opened and I said," Wow, your cab smells good." And I don't understand what he said back to me. I got a ride to the Plaza and then took a shuttle to U.Mass Boston. Once there, I dropped my bag off and got breakfast ( banana, coffee, cereal bar juice). The sun was coming up over the water. People were milling about. I felt, tired, excited and sort of lonely. I thought of Rose and the irony of me being there without her. She is the kind of person/friend who would have done this with me. And, here I am, alone and doing this for her and wishing she could do it with me, in the flesh. I  put my sunglasses on and cried. Oh, and my feet were sore. 

I took a lot of group photos for people . And I took a few of myself. We stood together, and warmed up as one large group. We held hands. We listened to some personal stories and then we were off. My feet were already sore and I felt a bit silly about that. We walked along the water and I recognized Southie , where Amy used to live. Then we turned and walked over a bridge. I remember passing the Barking Crab, a seafood joint where I last saw Rose (in Boston). I wore her ashes on a chain around my neck. I held them as we passed the restaurant sign. 

 It was exhilarating, walking around in the sunlight, part of this big group. People were stopping and smiling, cheering us on. We had frequent rest stops that were equipped with snacks and other essentials. Occasionally I would casually say something to someone or vice versa, but mostly it was a quiet walk for me. I remember walking towards the urban scape in the morning and by days end, we were in the countryside. ..

More soon. With pictures.

I 'm every woman, It's all in meeeeee

To keep it brief, I will list some of the common side affects I experience when I am about to speak to a large group of people as myself and not Tzeitel or the chef from Cinderella (yes, I really had that important part). 

dry right eye

numb left arm

shaking all over like bunny rabbit

paranoia

plus all the other things, like racing heart beat, dry mouth etc.

So at this meeting, I was prepared with a typed statement and question. Holding a vial of Rosies ashes in one hand I threw my other hand in the air after two people had spoken. I sort of tricked myself. And half of me (the naughty half that doesn't want me to do these scary things and whispers negative things like"Kelly you will trip, shite your pants, look silly, stumble over your words, KELLY YOU WILL FAIL", that part of me was a bit angry that my hand flew up. Cuz now I had no choice.  The other part of me took control. I walked nearly gracefully to the microphone in the auditorium. I cleared my throat. I told them my name and where I lived. I looked at everyone and I did not have to stare at my typed sheet. I had spent all afternoon revising it. I even ad- libbed a bit. I paused here and there. I listened to myself and I had to admit, that I had a nice voice. And honestly, I sounded like I knew what was talking about. After a few seconds even my shaking hands, shook a bit less. At one point I almost started crying. I paused and continued. As dad always told me, in the words of that baseball legend whose name eludes me, I endeavored  to persevere.  When I was done. Applause. Now the negative part of me wants to insert here that other people garnered applause too and maybe they just thought I was sort of cute.  But I will go no further with those nasty thoughts. I deserved it. It felt good. When it was over. 

Thanks for your support.

rose

Rose passed away a year ago yesterday. 

Because I was supposed to see her on the 18th of January I always think of that date as her last day on earth. I went through my busy day yesterday not really thinking of her. 

I just reread the last letter she wrote to me. I keep it in my underwear drawer with Henry's teeth, and other random, important things.   This has been my first intimate case of mourning in my life. I wish I had something wise to say. In some ways the deep sadness is just as sharp and tender as it was a year ago. Little details of life bring on waves of tears and a lump in my throat. 

Listening to Graceland on our way home from Christmas I couldn't stop crying. I remembered singing that one song that begins..." Joseph's face was black as night..." with Rose in college. We had decided to sing it a cappella for a talent show. I was so stricken with stage fright that we looked into each other's eyes the whole time and held hands. 

I still talk to her in my head, walking down the sidewalk. 

Rose's voice is strong in her last letter to me. In it she wishes that my life "will be exactly what you make of it and that you have the clarity to see the soft or violent but always subtle beauty in whatever your life becomes; to see the truth of what you have been given and the strength to, in the face of those gifts, continue to make an active choice." The last sentence in the letter is "After a while crocodile. " Always the jokester.

a dream I had

I am on a small boat in the middle of Cayuga Lake. I know Henry is sitting next to me, although I am not looking at him. There is a woman sitting on the other side of me, she has a young daughter and a partner, she went to Wells too. Also on the blue water is a barge-like boat. Not as big as a barge but flat and industrial looking. It is not too far away from us, close enough to see with some detail, that the deck is flanked with dozens of vultures. The vultures are enormous and exaggerated sort of like muppet vultures but not funny ha ha muppet, more like dark crystal material. Then I am in a dark red room and this is where the dream fades.

I know it has to do with Rose. I have been thinking about her a lot. I have been thinking about how the last moment I saw her was in no way in my mind the possible last moment. I was in a gold LeSabre (rental car). She was pulling away from the SeaTac airport, I was entering the rental car area. I had followed her to a gas station, she and Henry and I hugged and then she led the way to the airport. I told her we would try and save money to visit the following year and she said she would try to get back east soon. It was sad but matter of fact. I am so good at denial, a professional really, and it was too painful to think that Rosie would die before we both had gray hairs so I convinced myself that she wouldn't. I crave a conversation with her. I need a conversation with her and her nutty laugh. I need her advice. I need her support and I selfishly don't believe, will not believe that it is forever gone. And frankly all of that Buddhist bullshit about knowing she is spiritually here and that I just need to pray and think about her, well it is not enough and it makes me angry. There I have said it. I feel cheated and the worst part is that I have cheated myself. I have committed the ultimate cliche, I've taken someone for granted and lost them forever.

one last love

The following is a follow -up to a story on Rose that was aired last year. I am not savvy enough to get the link to work correctly... but you can cut and paste it into your window or look it up on the website or use an old fashioned pencil, write it down and look it up....I just emailed it to a few people...including Rose herself...


http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=18991484&sc=emaf

robots and rose

Sometimes I think of Rose watching me. I imagine her watching me nurse Ezra to sleep and I can just imagine her saying" Kelly, girl, what are you doing? You are running yourself ragged. Take care of yourself and get yourself that damn crimson, carved ring made of bone that you have been eying for months. Get yourself a bar of organic chocolate. Stop nursing that nearly adult son of yours at night. It's okay if he cries. "

Then I think of the first time I got a little annnoyed with her. Henry was just learning to walk. I was a wreck. So sleep deprived that I spent nearly two hours of every morning cross eyed. No Joke. I was hovering around him every waking second of his day. God forbid he should fall. Rose gently told me, or maybe not so gently, that I was acting crazy. I should lighten up, relax. I am sure she wasn't the only one thinking that. But I was annoyed. What she didn't know is that most brand new mothers
(esp. those who are more on the sen.emotive side and less on the rational side of the spectrum, or maybe that is totally irrelevent) anyway most new mothers hover and are nervous. You can do almost nothing about it. If you badger them they will become more nervous or worse. They may flip-flop between extreme nervousness, guilt and intense questionging. In short , they will have a new worry. They will now worry about the inevitable tumble and the fact that they are possibly making their child neurotic like themselves. I forgave Rose almost instantly. I knew she couldn't understand. By then, I knew she would have no child of her own body and she had chosen early not to adopt, although I still thought she might possibly change her mind.

Matty made cool robots with the boys. He is very proud of them. I am too. Recycled material robot-making is not necessarily a talent among most of the doctoral students we keep company with. Be sure to compliment him.

Images of Rosie