Limp asparagus

That’s what the lifeless baby bird looked like in what I assume was its moms beak. But maybe it was the dad. Or some jerk bird who invaded the nest, killed the bird, and flew off to dangle it in front of my kitchen window. 

Just moments before, I’d returned from a run around the lake, on which I’d go through what seemed a wave of emotions with each pitter. Each patter. I stop at this dock en route to stretch, or in today’s case, to cry. I finish the run, came home and poured a glass of chilled water. Felt okay for a moment, but then lost it at the sight of jerk-bird-eats-baby, though we both know the tears had nothing to do with them at all.

It’s okay, Kenz. It’s time for her to go. 97 years is a long time. It’s time.

My eyes were still a bit swollen from the unexpected tears which fell the day before. They came in waves and dissipated as friends gathered around me. It’s amazing what familiar faces can do for a sad heart. Sounds so simple, but it’s not. It’s kind of like the whole “love one another ” thing. Sounds simple, but like woah…

I feel as if these words are disjointed, but that’s where my brain is right now. It took just a few words to get me there. Gram. Stroke. One to two weeks. Morphine. Hospice.

Tone. It was the tone, too. Big gulps from my mom’s throat. I’m not sure if she knew I could hear them, but I heard the fight not to cry in every gulp. She spoke quieter than she normally does, but I could still hear the vowels, consonants quiver and shake. Emotion so changes language. Words take on such different faces when strangled by the sadness which only comes when speaking of death. I found myself clinging to the descriptives my mom chose to use, elevating those with more positive connotations in the hopes that they’d overshadow the bulk of what she was telling me.

…………………………………………..

That was Friday.

…………………………………………………………………

It is now Monday.

I hate that they were right. One to two weeks. She made it a day shy of the first week. As the sun crept toward its resting place, so did my Gram. Shannon checked on her before her nightly ritual of Jeopardy. Watched Alex make contestants sweat. Returned to the bedroom to check on her.

Lifeless and limp, she lay. It’s odd describing someone in a way you’ve never thought of them before. Gram was anything but lifeless. Heroically stubborn. An impassioned activist for things she believed in. The Stohl family matriarch. A generator of generosity. Regal. Quick-witted. Opinionated and quite the critical thinker. So intelligent that I kind of always feared speaking around her, not because she would openly criticize the fact that I’m one of those normal folks, but because I feared the t’s she was crossing and i’s she was dotting as I spoke. She wrote the most fabulous letters in the world and had a vocabulary fit for…I don’t know…she could kick Akeelah’s ass any day.

Sorry, but not really. I feel a hint of cynicism and anger that she’s gone. I don’t want her to be gone.

That said, she went how she wanted to go. At home, while the sun was entertaining the finches dancing outside her windows. No nursing homes. No machines. No lights or sirens to warn the world of imminent loss.

But I feel it. 3,000 miles away, I feel her absence. 

I want to put a memoir together of her life. To have kids, grandkids, friends, cousins, spouses scribble memories of their time with her. A compilation of sorts. 

And I will start with this, a letter I found, dated May 2001. I found it online today and of course started crying, as Big Band music & Gram are synonymous in my mind. She had written into the Washington Post to fight for the preservation of her music. I’m not sure that this will mean much to those who didn’t know her, but for those that do, it is SO Gram. I’m sure she authored hundreds of feisty letters such as this… and oh, what I’d do to read them all. 

Donald Sauter wrote:

I’ll finish up this part of the discussion with a letter to the Washington Post, from May 2001. It’s not about beautiful music per se, but it got all my sympathy. The last sentence still brings a tear to my eye.

 Bring Us the Big Bands

I want to thank Frank Ahrens for his April 17 Radio Listener column [Style]. It seems a real tragedy that with all the hundreds of stations spewing music and talk over the airwaves they cannot allow one station providing such pleasure to the hordes of us who dearly love the old big bands and singers with their sophisticated, intelligent and perfect lyrics.

I miss my music so much. I wish there were a possibility of having a station devoted, like public tv, to noncommercially dictated music, supported by our contributions that would keep our wonderful heritage of 1920s-through-1950s music alive.

As it is, I have half a dozen radios in my house that will never be turned on again.

Phyllis B. Stohl 
McLean, Virginia

…………………………………………..

Goodbye for now, Gram. I love you.

Jen & Mark

Jennifer & Mark tied the knot on a picturesque lawn & beneath a beaming Seattle sun. It was such a gift to witness these two join forces. She is one of the warmest & strong women I’ve ever encountered. And Mark, so so gentle & kind. Thank you both for inviting me to be a part of the beginning of your story as one.

You can view the pictures here.

Click on Client Proofing. Password: bryan (lowercase. passwords are case sensitive.)

(first kiss EVER, which was about the sweetest thing EVER.)

And, um, congrats on the baby brewing in your tummy Jen!

Yes, Jen got prego on the honeymoon. Way to go Mark.

Goodbride for now. I love you.

Just fowl

On any given day, it’s possible for quite a plethora of things to fall from my bra. I think of it as a space for multi-purpose storage. Chapstick, gum, or the alternate pair of earrings I just might decide (a few hours late) are perfect for the day’s outfit. Parking stubs for the garage, the other favored flavor of bubble gum (as you must have both a fruity and minty option at all times), or bobby pins. 

I think it’s a woman-thing, though maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t feel so ridiculous for using my (more often than not) discounted fabric cups (labeled with the earliest letters of the alphabet) for all types of support. Good breath, soft lips, less unruly hair, all-day parking. I need a bra much more for these other things than for their original design. 

So yesterday, my cups and I went on a run. A long one. I’ve been running more the past few months. It’s therapeutic and a time for me to think. Has been helpful in an effort to lose bad habits and practice better ones.

I woke up at four and decided, after many failed attempts (and torpedo rolls to find the perfect position) to get up. Fine. Fine. Don’t sleep. You’ll regret it by about 11 a.m. and I won’t feel badly because I warned you…

And because I knew I was going to try 13 miles, I stocked up beforehand. 

Chapstick. Check.

2 sticks gum. Check.

Extra rubber band. Check.

A few bobbies. Check check.

I stopped a few times to take pictures with my phone (which was totally designed by a woman because of it’s multi-purposeness) because of the stunning Seattle sky. At four, it’s dark here. At four fifteen, the birds begin stirring, flapping, uttering…and the sky begins to wake. Four thirty, in creeps the shy ethereal glow. Almost simultaneously, said birds grow more confident in their song. The flame of the sun strengthens and moves from crisp whites, calming blues to the most startling shades of red, yellow, orange you can imagine. And if you do try to imagine, it’s not good enough. It was prettier than what’s in your head. Scout’s honor.

About halfway through, when the sky looked as if a sticky-fingered and satisfied child had smeared watermelon across, I reached into my now-soaked storage unit for chapstick. And that’s when gross happened.

I felt the creepy crawly non-plastic-and-surely-insecty legs of a spider and, in a matter of seconds, exhibited all of the typical girl-finds-bug reactions one would imagine. Screaming. Flailing arms. Screaming while flailing arms. And as if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, all of my shelved items went flying every which way.

My stupid chapstick even rolled in the stupid lake, which was reflecting a stupid canary color from the sky above. 

Ducks in out of a row.

It’s amazing how quickly my world can unravel. And for the record, I don’t think my ducks are ducks. I think they’re pigeons.

Goodbra for now. I love you.

Dance dance dance

A friend shared this song with me recently, and I’ve listened to it 20834843 gazillion times since. Courtesy of the lovely Bon Iver & Lyyke Li. I’m not sure who I have more of a crush on.

I feel that so many things in my life right now are worth dancing for. 

Goodbye for now. I love you you you.

(Sorry for the terrible video quality. My infantile understanding of all things internet leaves me with no clue as to how I can improve it for you.)

ETA

I will be in Texas for three weeks, beginning August 15th. Will leave for New York on September 6th-ish.

If you’ll be in Dallas around then, I’d love to see you. Can’t wait to see all your purty faces.

Danielle

A few images from my bridal session with Danielle. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone pull a dress off quite like her. Stunning. Truly stunning.

Cheers to you D. I love you.

Fill in the __________.

Remember Mad Libs?  Darc and I went through a phase of loving them. Bathed in them en route to family vacations. Looking back, It would have been pretty terrible sitting near us on those airplanes, as I’m convinced we were obnoxious from the second we inserted wads of gum at take-off to when we griped about how the gum failed us as we landed, ears clogged.

“Oh my gosh, Oh my gosh Darc. Now it’s my turn to read it. Ohhh yeah, this one is so totally awesome:

Dear Godzilla,
I am having a(n) alleged time at camp. The counselor is Independent and the food isConcrete. I met Jordan and we became Quietly friends. Unfortunately, Jordan is Silently and I Tooted my Toe so we couldn`t go Crawling like everybody else. I need more Zookeepers and a Squirrel sharpener, so please Grossly Ran more when you Poop back.
Your Truly,
Lou.

“Yeah, that’s the awesomest. Baaaaahaaaaa hahahaaaaaa.”

Gotta love junior high.

Anyway, I thought I’d fill you in on ch ch changes in my life with a little fill-in-the-blank action. It’ll be short and sweet and less ridiculous than my earlier  tangent on inane childhood entertainment.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Mackenzie ________ Rollins. She studied ________ in college. Fell in _____ with telling stories through a _____.  This love has taken her many places. India, Bosnia, Morocco, Spain, Seattle. Last year, she was offered an __________ in New York City, but decided not to go. This week, the internship was offered again. Mackenzie said _____!

The internship begins in September. More details to come.

Goodbye for now. I _____ you.