My Mother, 1925 - 2010

My Mother, 1925 - 2010, originally uploaded by confections.

On my birthday, December 10th, 2009, my sisters, my Mom, and I celebrated at our favorite tea shop, Tea-upon-Chatsworth in San Diego. We all sported tiaras for the occasion.

I lost my Mother on Valentine's Day. Rest in peace, Mutti.


"Song"

by Edward Coote Pinkney, 1825

Those starry eyes, those starry eyes,
Those eyes that used to be
Unto my heart as beacon-lights
To pilgrims on the sea!

I see them yet, I see them yet,
Though long since quenched and gone--
I could not live illumined by
The common sun alone.

Could they seem thus, could they seem thus,
If but a memory?
Ah, yes! Upon this wintry earth
They burn no more for me.
♥

Pink Bellflower (3)

Pink Bellflower (3), originally uploaded by confections.

Today is the birthday of a dear friend of mine who passed away more than fourteen years ago. She had a strong influence on my life and was like a second mother. I dedicate this lovely pink bellflower (campanula medium) to her. Happy Birthday, Drumdaughter!

Daddy Reading at the Cabin

Daddy Reading at the Cabin, originally uploaded by confections.

I lost my father to an accident seventeen years ago today. In the aftermath of his loss, an elderly friend of mine, a poet who had only known my Dad through my sister and me, wrote a moving tribute to him. I'm including it here; it was written by my late friend, Mary Ellen Gallagher (Drumdaughter), whom I sorely miss as well.

♥

On the last full day of his life
he climbed a tree.
What, you ask, was a seventy-four
year old man doing
climbing a tree?

Perhaps the bright autumn woods
made him feel a boy again
and he longed to be held in leafy arms,
gaze once more on his beloved fields,
and touch the wild September sky.

In numinous response to leaves
and sun and apple-scented air
he moved old aching bones up to the tree top
and started his journey away from
minds which look askance at old men in trees.

I could only wish to climb a tree
on the last full day of my life.

Daddy Tying Flies Circa 1975

Daddy Tying Flies Circa 1975, originally uploaded by confections.

My father passed away sixteen years ago this week and the unfathomable pain of his loss has only slightly lessened for me. I love this photo of my Dad, taken in our backyard by anthropologist and photographer Frances M. Cox, a now-deceased friend of my parents. He is tying flies to use when fly fishing for trout, one of his favorite pastimes.

He was an unself-consciously creative man. One of my earliest memories of his expression of that natural creativity is his crafting an archery bow from scratch with laminated colorful woods. I was a pre-schooler and was fascinated by the steaming of the wood and its taking shape in the custom form he built. He made the arrows, too.

Years later, for my youngest sister's wedding reception, he and my mother hand-gathered grapevine and he wove an oversized fruit basket to grace the dessert table. I come by my love of crafts and handwork honestly. My mother is no slouch in these areas, either! More about her in an upcoming post.

Sunflower Joy

Sunflower, originally uploaded by confections.

The Dog Days of Summer are here, although it has been quite comfortable here in Southern California lately. Nothing says summer to me in such a playful way as a riotous sunflower bloom.

This one was part of a thickly planted patch in a local neighborhood that I spied while driving by. I could not resist stopping and documenting its beauty. If you look closely you can see a few bees enjoying its nectar.

During the last summer of my Dad's life (1991), he grew a spectacular sunflower in his garden in Pennsylvania which was easily twice the diameter of the center of this bloom (perhaps 12 inches to this one's 6). We had given him the seeds in the spring and he nurtured his prize with his secret fertilizer--gray water from the kitchen dishpan.

A few days after his untimely accidental death that September, we harvested the sunflower and kept the seeds. My sister fashioned a wire-wrapped charm bracelet for me that included one of the seeds.

My father reveled in nature and it is poignant to me that this last triumph in his garden yielded hollow seed-shells. That sunflower would not be replicated--an irony not lost on his children and family, who still feel his loss, but are uplifted and reminded of him when a sunflower shows its joyous face.