Tag: death

Fine and Private Place

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Beagle, Peter. A Fine and Private Place. New York: Viking, 1960.

For starters I have to say I love first novels. It’s that “dammit, im gonna do it” book. That leaping off point of either ‘no return and so I write’, or ‘that failed so I go back to whatever it was I had been doing before I put pen to paper’ (or whatever method they use these days). In Peter Beagle’s case I think A Fine and Private Place was a huge success.

A Fine and Private Place is haunted yet humorous. It takes place in a cemetery with a talking black bird (a sarcastic one at that) and a homeless man as its residents. The dead have issues with remembering yet have no problem complaining to the living man lurking in their midst. That man would be Mr. Rebeck, the one time druggist who now spends his days (and nights) in the New York cemetery. In fact, he hasn’t left the grounds in nearly twenty years. A Fine and Private Place delves into what it means to have a soul, even if it gets lost from time to time. It’s the story of different relationships struggling to make it despite the differences. Throughout the story there are minor mysteries. Why, for example, is Mr. Rebeck living in the cemetery? Did Michael Malone’s wife really murder him? And, what’s with the talking bird? Don’t expect a lot of action from A Fine and Private Place. The majority of the story is filled with introspective musings and the plot is centered on character development and how those characters interact with one another.

Two of my favorite lines, “He had begun to tell her about the raven when he realized that Mrs. Kapper’s credulity had been stretched as far as it would go and would snap back at the slightest mention of a profane black bird bringing him food” (p 145), and “He hastily subpoenaed a sleepy smile” (p 158).

BookLust Twist: Perfect for Halloween, although it wasn’t scary – from More Book Lust in the chapter called, “Gallivanting in the Graveyard” (p 96).

September 09 was…

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September 2009 was…Back to school. I spent the first part of the month concentrating on hiring for the library and avoiding tragedy. Kisa and I took a much needed vacation – first to Fenway park (go Red Sox!) and then to Baltimore for a little getaway. September is the month I will always mourn my father, but now I add Mary Barney to the list of tears. As I have always said, everything bad happens in September. This year was no different. As you can tell, I buried myself in books.

The Escape was:

  • The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka ~ I had completely forgotten how disturbing this book was!
  • The Reivers by William Faulkner ~ a southern classic that almost had me beat.
  • A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush by Eric Newby ~ funny tale about a first-time expedition
  • Out of the Blue: the Story of September 11, 2001 From Jihad to Ground Zero by Richard Bernstein and the staff of  The New York Times ~ an unsettling journalistic account of what really happened on 9/11/01.
  • The Johnstown Flood by David McCullough ~ a nonfiction about what happens when mother nature meets bad human design.
  • Off Balance: the Real World of Ballet by Suzanne Gordon ~ a nonfiction about the ugly side of dance.
  • Sarah Canary by Karen Joy Fowler ~ magical book about three very broken people (in honor of real character month).
  • A Student of Weather by Elizabeth Hay ~ Hay’s first novel – one I couldn’t put down it was that good! This was on the September list as “the best time to visit Canada.”
  • Native Son by Richard Wright ~incredibly depressing. I’m almost sorry I read it this month.
  • The View From Pompey’s Head by Hamilton Basso ~ a last minute pick-me-up, read in honor of Basso’s birth month (but also doubled as a “southern” read).

For LibraryThing and the Early Review program: Day of the Assassins by Johnny O’Brien. Geared towards teenage boys, this was a fun, fast read.

For fun, I read a quick book called Women Who Run by Shanti Sosienski . Since our flight to Baltimore was only 40-some-odd minutes I didn’t want to bring a lengthy read. This was perfect.

Tract

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Williams, William Carlos. “Tract.” The Collected Earlier Poems of William Carlos Williams. New York: New Directions, 1951.

This is an ashes to ashes, dust to dust kind of poem. Williams is pleading with his community to spare the glitz and glamour when it comes to burying the dead. He believes in sending a body back to the earth in the simplest way possible. A gentle return, if you will. He asks that his townspeople remember the person for who they were and not who they wanted to be. Do not remember them by the status they kept in society, but rather by the things the departed held dear. Share emotions like grief for they are the true gifts of mourning.

BookLust Twist: In More Book Lust in the chapter, “Poetry Pleasers” (p 189).

Red Death

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Mosley, Walter. A Red Death. New York: Norton, 1991.

This was a quick read for me. I was first introduced to Walter Mosley’s work this past summer while renting a cottage on the island. It was a paperback in the cottage’s collection and I “borrowed” it for awhile. I like the orginality of Mosely’s voice. It is complicated and cunning, sarcastic and sexy, tough and tender all at once.

Red Death is Walter Mosley’s continuation of his debut novel, Devil in a Blue Dress. In Devil in a Blue Dress we meet Ezekiel “Easy” Porterhouse Rawlins, a hard drinkin’, hard lovin’ unofficial Los Angeles detective who has an eye for the ladies and is a magnet for trouble. In Red Death Easy gets himself tangled in yet another scandal, this one political. Taking place in the 1950s, Easy faces the paranoia brought on by Communism and the ever present racial tensions as he deals with not only the IRS, but the FBI. Both want him, but for very different reasons. As always, Easy doesn’t shy away from trouble. Once again, Easy is sexy and dangerous all at once.

Favorite lines: “I like to use my legs , especially when I had thinking to do” (p 24).
“He loved us in the strange way that he felt everything” (p 74).
“Dreams are wonderful things, because they’re a different way of thinking” (p 235).
“I made like I was friends with people and then I planned to do them dirt” (p 276).

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter, “Walter Mosley: Too Good To Miss”

Bird Song

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Lone dad

It has taken me some time to come to terms with her passing. Doesn’t seem right. More than doesn’t feel fair. I’ll say it yet again – cancer just isn’t fair.
They came to the island as love birds; a dating, doting couple. Binoculars and a sense of biology, they came to the island year after year to love the birds. The years gave way to marriage, kids, property, and a dog. A sense of belonging to the community became so strong the island couldn’t remember a time without them. It was as if they had always been there.
I don’t remember the first time I met her. It was that long ago. I can only remember her as I last saw her four months ago. Feisty and forcing fresh baked cookies on us, she commanded from the couch. Slipping water through a straw she surveyed the world outside her kingdom. A huge picture window afforded her a priceless view. She smiled as she watched a pheasant family creep jauntily through the high grass. Father pheasant’s neck arched and stretched searching for bugs, pecking as he went. His eyes were bright, watchful and wary. He paused as if to say I know you are there and she paused, the glass lifted halfway to her lips, as if her stillness could keep him there.

Binoculars, books and Bean gear. She was always ready for the birds. She kept a journal of the season’s best spyings. A log of feathered friends encountered throughout the seasons. As she grew sicker, too ill to hike her ornithology conquests had to be counted from the couch. Her bird’s eye view of the birds was limited to the ones who came to her big picture window. Mostly it was the pheasants. Soon she could tell us how many families were in the area. How many babies were born that year. Always the pheasants. They became her friends. That is why when I see a family of pheasants I will always think of her.

Meditation Monday

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My sister gave me a book on awareness. At this current moment the book is nowhere near me and I’m too lazy to get it. So, I won’t be telling you the title at this time. But, I’ve added it to my January list of books to read and I will be “reviewing” it in my half-azzed manner.

What got me thinking is the idea of mind over matter. December was an awful month because I let it be. My car was in the shop no less than five times. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be such a big deal. Kisa and I carpool all the time, but it sucked something out of me. A sense of independence was lost. I lost sensibility, too – trying to make plans without transportation was just plan stupid.
We “lost” three houses. Since we never really had them, technically, I’m overreacting. I’m making a big deal out of this real estate game. I’m letting my emotions get the better of me whenever the houses get away. I guess I make it emotional because it seems like we have been losing for so long.  
We lost two friends. That we did. When N died all I could focus on was 49 was too young to die. Her kids are teenagers – at that perfect age when mom just starts to become human, possibly even a friend. I couldn’t get to the point of relief that she was no longer suffering, no longer fighting a decade long battle. When T died all I could focus on was how stupid it is to be alive. Senseless and stupid. I’m angry because I’m selfish.
Death has had me mean. When someone blurted out “he’s just going to die anyway” I wanted to agree, I wanted to say, “I think you’re right” but I couldn’t . You don’t wish death on someone just because the statistics say it’s time. What is time to someone 22, 49 or 92?

December was an awful month for work, too. I vow to give reviews in November next year. To plan better. To direct better. The whining will stop. The whimpering will stop. I had a chance to talk to my boss one on one. He said the sign of a good leader is recognizing exhaustion; knowing when you are dangerously close to your breaking point and need a break. He ordered me to take the entire vacation off and do something a little less “urgent” with the time. It was the best advice someone could give me. He doesn’t need to know I didn’t refuse work from somewhere else!

So now I’ve meditated on most of what bothered me in December. Most of it was out of my control, but I let it get to me just the same. In the process I learned a valuable lesson. Let go. I didn’t send Christmas cards to people who have never sent me one. I’ve given my last gift to someone who never has the decency to say thank you. I’ve let go of superficial signs of sentiment. It’s time to pay attention to what really matters.

Send Me Superman

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I got the call during the worst moment. I was dealing with a bad attitude. I was trying not to deal out a bad attitude just the same. “She died” was all my mother said. For a moment I couldn’t speak. My mouth gaped open, I nearly dropped the phone, the world slowed down and drained away. Silence. She died. Just like that. Mother, wife, friend, neighbor. Gone. Just like that.

Send me Superman to take away this sorrow. Send me Superman to keep me strong. Send them Superman, too. I think of her kids, her husband, her community and hear their hurt loud and clear. Send them every super hero heart to love them during this trying time.

When I Go

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hauntedI asked my husband why graveyards weren’t decorated for Halloween. Or Christmas, for that matter. I think my question took him by surprise. “Well…it doesn’t seem right…” he answered slowly. Cemeteries have always been my place of sanctuary so I’m sure he was afraid of offending me.

“Well,” I retorted sharply, “when I die I would like you to bring me a Jack-o-Latern. On Halloween have it lit. Leave me candy, maybe a few plastic spiders.” Kisa laughed and said he thought he could handle that. It didn’t seem to be such a tall order for after death. He did warn me that the pumpkin would look funny, though.

Death to You

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Black eyed
A couple of years ago I had a dream about my death. Two friends were dragging me across a field to lay me in a field of daisies. They talked about me as if I had wronged them by leaving them. Here’s the freaky part. When they let go of me – to drop me off in my final resting place – when my head hit the ground – I woke up. This is what I wrote afterwards:

Here I am. Stuck on the wrong side of sleep yet again. A dream startled me awake and that’s simply all it took. I’m reduced to prowling the cyberworld once again. I won’t go into details because even though my dream was troubling I don’t want to read into it anymore than my psyche already has. I will say this, it has me thinking about human perception. Friends and death. When do you know you have a friend? Really, truly know someone is your friend? Is it based on how many comments they leave you on MySpace? Is it weighed by how many times they call your cell phone? Is it the amount of concern they show you in times of trouble? Is it by their reaction to you when you are falling down drunk? I am losing my grip on what constitutes a real, honest to goodness friend.
the death perception is easier to figure out. It’s easier to define because my trouble is a single ponderance – why does a person lose all they love then they die? At what point does a person go from being Dear Uncle Joe to “the body” they must do something with as quickly as possible? Why is it that we are a society that can;t get rid of the dead fast enough? I know I have questioned this before. In other cultures they take turns washing and dressing and sitting with their dearly departed. It’s a rare society that will not say “that’s not Aunt Julie anymore.” Our society means it when we say “She’s gone.”
So how are friends and death connected? Simple. Friends, when I die please don’t be so quick to get rid of the vessel that has housed my soul. Hang out for a little while, tell me ghost stories, play the music I love to hear, laugh about what I’ve lost because you know wherever I went I can’t find my keys.

“Grave digger, when you dig my grace could you make it shallow so that I can feel the rain?” ~ David J. Matthews

I think what I was really asking was this: please don’t drag me across a friend and leave me to push up the daisies.

Last Lecture

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Pausch, Randy. The Last Lecture. New York: Hyperion, 2008

This was not on any Book Lust or More Book Lust list. That isn’t to say that it shouldn’t be. Indeed, if Nancy Pearl ever sets up to write a third volume of Lust, I would hope she would include The Last Lecture. When I first heard of it I was reminded of Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom To crudely sum up Tuesdays, Mitch’s college professor, Morrie Schwartz was dying of Lou Gerhig’s disease. Upon hearing this, Mitch set out to rekindle his Tuesday meetings with Morrie. What came of those meetings was a great book and a heart warming movie.

Imagine Morrie writing his own book. He knows he is dying and is desperate to leave the world with a gift; the gift of inspiration. This is how I think Randy Pausch saw The Last Lecture. Dying of terminal cancer and given only months to live, Randy saw an opportunity to leave his words of wisdom on the minds of former students and colleagues at Carnegie Mellon. His message “Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams” went beyond academia – it went much deeper than that. It was his meaning of life and he wanted to share these thoughts with family and friends as well. The lecture, delivered in September 2007 was peppered with outrageous stories, touching photographs and a wry sense of humor about his illness. It was a huge success. It led to the book The Last Lecture (which became a national best seller). 

Favorite quotes: “There’s a formality on academia that can’t be ignored, even if a man is busy with other things, like trying not to die” (p 4). So, right off the bat you know Randy Pausch views his cancer as something “to deal with” and not get bogged down by. This, to me, set the tone for the entire book.
“Open the encyclopedia. Open the dictionary. Open your mind” (p 22). While the previous quote may have set the tone for the book, this quote summed up who Randy Pausch was from the time he was a child until he last breath. He was a man who never wanted to stop learning. That comes across very clearly throughout The Last Lecture.

I strongly urge you to pick up the book, check out the website, even watch the dvd of the actual lecture. It may change how you view your world around you…it may even change your life.

All in Shock

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My mother’s email read, “D died suddenly. All in shock.” No sh!t. Shock is an understatement. Kisa came to bed and said, “I think I know what happened. Yaz went into the hospital early this morning and D couldn’t take it.” Despite my self stunned state I smiled. He had a point and could possibly be right. No one loved the Red Sox more than D, except maybe his daughter.

I want to think that’s exactly what happened. Home is just too small of a place for mysteriously sudden passings. Things like that just don’t happen. We read about them in the news. We see them on television. They shock us yet we manage to shake our heads and say Glad that wasn’t here. But, but. But! In our little world when people die we usually see it coming from a long way off. Like a ship on the horizon we see the approach and brace ourselves for the arrival. We have time to think, time to prepare. Even my father sent us signs. Headaches, high blood pressure. We should have seen it coming a mile away yet we chose to be stunned.

“All in shock” is definitely an understatement.

Edited to add: Nothing could have prepared me for the passing of LeRoi Moore. It seems so unreal. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that a founding member of the Dave Matthews Band, just 46 years old, is dead. I have to blink my eyes and scratch my head. Three days of bad news. Is it September already?

For Ruth

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Blueberry Yum

Ruth Etta Ives, 59

PEMAQUID — Ruth Etta Ives, 59, of Pemaquid, passed away on Nov. 13, 2006, from a malignant brain tumor. Ruth was born on Jan. 17, 1947, the daughter of Charles and Velma Drake and stepfather Robert Sutter of Wiscasset. Ruth is a 1965 graduate of Wiscasset High School and 1969 graduate of the University of Maine at Orono.

From 1971 to 1972, Ruth studied theology at the University of Edinburgh, Scotland where she met her husband, the Rev. Robert Ives. They married in 1973, and moved to Monhegan Island, where for two years they taught together in the one-room school house while Robert was the island minister. They moved to Loud’s Island in Muscongus Bay for two years (1975-77) where they served as the island ministers in the summers and in Sheepscott in the winters. After serving the New Harbor and Round Pond United Methodist Churches from 1977-1979, Ruth and Robert founded the Carpenter’s Boat Shop in Pemaquid. For 27 years, they have welcomed apprentices into their home to learn the craft of wooden boat building and to discern direction for their lives. Ruth always welcomed any person, offering a cup of tea and a blueberry muffin. She corresponded with thousands of friends and former apprentices, and wrote over 50,000 letters while at the Boat Shop.

Ruth also helped found the Community Housing Improvement Project (C.H.I.P.) in 1984, and for nearly 15 years helped coordinate the annual ecumenical CROP Walk to benefit world hunger relief. Ruth was an active member of the Second Congregational Church, U.C.C. of Newcastle.

Ruth leaves behind her husband of 33 years, the Rev. Robert Ives of Pemaquid; children Hilda Ives Wiley and her husband Peter of Cambridge, Mass., Jonathan Ives and Hannah Ives of Pemaquid; and her brothers Bob and Bill Sutter of Wiscasset, and Scott Sutter of Boothbay.

The memorial service will be held at St. Patrick’s Church in Newcastle on Saturday, Nov. 18 at 1 p.m. A family burial will be held at the Harrington Meetinghouse Cemetery in Pemaquid.

In lieu of flowers, the Ives family requests that gifts be given to: C.H.I.P (Community Housing Improvement Project) P.O. Box 6 New Harbor, Maine 04554 or any organization that is working to promote justice, love, and peace within your local community. Ruth always tried to think globally and act locally. Ruth Etta Ives

Portland Press Herald November 15, 2006