slow suicide's no way to go

A routine morning at the family leads to finding out that one relative has a week to live, that another one much closer is veering closer and closer to a total collapse and there's nothing any of us can do. I don't know what to say, and leave, not knowing what to do.

But it's so beautiful out, and how many more days like this will there be, so I go to the nature preserve that's open twice a year, take my camera and shoot pictures of leaves and trees, of reeds taller than me, of spiderwebs and deadwood, basking in the sun filtering through the green and the first red colors of fall, having awkward small talk with senior citizen birdwatchers, walking ahead so I can be alone with God and immerse myself in the sound of crickets and cicadas.

I want more green and flowers, but the botanical garden has some big event so I wander through the art museum looking at photos of the midwest and its broken dreams, ancient sculptures from Persia and Greece and Byzantium, the bright colors of oil paintings. I know that this is only temporary solace, but it is solace nonetheless.

I need sleep, need so many intangible things and wish for things that will never happen in this all too short life. I don't know what to say, what to do to make anything better. I don't know if any of us really does.

lo-fi love song

It's always a pleasure when my cousins come up, especially the one my sister's age who works in IT for an evil tween clothing company and has to work a 12-hour shift tomorrow for 9/11, which is also his birthday, though he's not the most social of people by any means. Just in case, you know, terrorists try to bring down the glittery pink site of Tweenage Western Decadent Strumpetry Bieberland, or something.

The conversation gets spirited as the wine flows freely though we don't delve into politics this time, which is probably good. My teenage cousins discuss their favorite bands earnestly in a way I remember doing, getting mad at the kids in school who like the one song they heard on the radio and saying that's the best band ever. I remember when it mattered so much, and now it doesn't. I don't say much because I'm losing touch with the pulse of the youth, and soon I'll be like their teachers that they make fun of for wanting to be in touch with POPULAR CULTURE.

My dad is tired from working all day and ends up sleeping on the couch in the other room, but I go back to get my laundry and we end up hanging out, playing guitar, listening to music. He's been going through his hundreds of cassette tapes recorded with friends on a double-tape deck with a microphone hanging from the ceiling and found one that had songs he wrote for my mom, twenty years into their marriage, played on three chords on the amp we got when I first decided I really liked making noise.

His voice is wavering, the words simple, the sentiments deep, the uncomplicated thoughts of first impressions and insecurities of questions of himself and God, the guitar swirling with the flange, fading out as he runs out of words. I ask him if he's ever played this for her and he says no and for some reason this moment moves me in a way I can't explain.

I drive home through the dark streets, considering trying to catch the last half of Studio-A-Rama but by then Scrawl will be done and the night is beautiful and for some reason 80's thrash on the radio sounds like the best thing ever, so I drive with the windows down, the greasy rain on my shoulders, my hair wild, missing late night drives of spilling words, knowing that there just isn't time or words to say what's there.

coming off the caffeine rush...

I forget that it's halfway through February, coming home and wondering why it's so damn cold so I'm wrapped in a blanket, listening to wintry music, too sleepy to do anything really coherent, ignoring phone calls that involve either going out to the bar around the corner even if it'd be chill or anything that involves listening to someone talking about their relationship angst. As someone with a literary bent who finds life and people to be more interesting than most recent fiction, I've got a higher tolerance and an often frequent enjoyment of anecdotes and stories, but not for endless regurgitation of dysfunction that's woefully one-sided.

We celebrated my uncle's birthday tonight, over the usual wine-and-politics preliminaries where everyone's all over the place politically, some people say things that are totally absurd, and I try to remember to be sure that what I say is coherent and not completely acidic, and still finding ways to laugh.

Me and my brother-in-law were trying to come up with ideas for a bestseller that would combine the worst elements of 2012 Maya weirdness with the neo-Hal-Lindsey predictions of the evangelical wing, joking about neocon babies (my sister said that the baby is constantly leaning to her right), and spelling out EVIL HERO with the OVER THE HILL birthday candles.

I end up aiding and abetting my grandpa by sneaking him brownies (he's diabetic but watches his sugar instead of taking insulin), discussing Neil Gaiman novels with my becoming-very-cool younger cousin who now has a green streak in her hair and is learning to play the guitar, talking to my sister's belly where my unborn nephew will be for another three months telling him that I'm sorry that the world he'll be born into sucks but that we still love him and God is good and maybe he'll still do ok.

being in and around...

It took the city extra time to wake up this morning. I drove down east 93rd and then through Shaker this morning and the sun was out but the world was still asleep and those who were awake were frantic in less economically depressed environs. I loved the way the November sun looks, the shadows, the signs of corner stores and storefront churches. I had my camera but I was alone in strange parts and there were enough stragglers that I didn't want to explain anything.

I took the sick kitty to the vet and it's been a long time since I've sat in an animal hospital waiting room. I wished I could take photos of the people and the pets without being creepy because it was just the best people-watching ever.

it really does seem to be true that the pet's looks reflect those of the owners... the crazy couple with the giant St Bernards on huge chains, yuppies with obscure purebreds, the hardcore punk looking guy across from me with the bulldog, high maintenance women with terriers, and elderly cat ladies with elderly cats. It was loud in there with the barking and meowing and I couldn't read the book I brought and don't know how the guy across from me was getting through "Pedagogy of the Oppressed" with all this noise.

I never go shopping on Black Friday but me & a friend of mine ended up at Pat Catan's in search of art supplies and I ended up getting some absurd and random Christmas gifts for my cousins, things that made us giggle like roaring dinosaur keychains, multicolored disco ball ornaments, and a giant inflatable Shamu. We drank coffee at Gypsy and pondered all the ideas and changes that have hit both me and her this year and then I met up with my sister, her mother-in-law and husband for dinner at a pub in Rocky River that was jammed with people who looked like they went to high school together.

They treated me for my birthday and we finished up at Half Price Books amused by puzzles with unicorns on them and I ended up scoring big in the dollar section of the CDs, came home with Astrud Gilberto, Quicksand's "Manic Compression," and Godspeed You! Black Emperor's "F#A#infinity" which is the perfect soundtrack for dark cold nights like these. The Youtube comments are ridiculous but I guess I have a thing sometimes for apocalyptic Canadian anarchists playing epic chamber rock, though seeing them live way back when was emotionally overwhelming to the point that I was dazed and thankful that my friend was able to drive me home.



I've been in a place where there's so much going on inside, it's really hard to explain, and that's when the music fills the gaps.

give me things that don't get lost...

My birthdays are never epic, but this one's been especially good for not having much going on... not stressing about dead ends, not euphoric with potential. Played a game of Risk with my sister & dad and lost, finding delicious irony in the fact that U2's "War" is playing in the background because that's the one album the three of us can agree on.

Got some voicemail serenades, some sweet text messages and phone calls, and a whole lot of facebook love for what it's worth. People ask me if I feel bad that the holiday overshadows my birthday but it's just so good to see everyone and then when the cousins and the rest of the family converge, it's just such a good time having everyone there.

27 years old now, housesitting on the east side watching an ailing kitty for some friends who are out of town, hoping that she's ok because while I enjoy animals, I don't know much about taking care of sick ones. I'm making sure she's eating and drinking and such, hoping that she'll be all right.

Ate too much homemade cranberry sauce tonight and drank too much coffee, had the usual wine and conversation involving the usual cocktail of politics and religion and evidently one of my distant cousins traced back my Anglo side to 1066 and was unhappy with the presence of French blood a thousand years ago, though I highly doubt anyone's pure anything, with all the invading and raping and pillaging that went on way back when between the Vikings and Genghis Khan and whoever.

Besides, everyone's probably related somehow if you go back far enough and never mind that got mixed with the Irish two generations ago and with the Polish in my parents' case and who knows what with the next group of kids.

If it wasn't raining so hard I'd go back over to the west side to hang out with some of my friends who have no family here and will be up late, but I'm just going to chill here, read, journal a bit, drink some tea, listen to Neil Young. I don't need much to get by and this is beautiful and good.

acquisition / reposition

These past couple months have made me better at learning how to do things on my own. I don't know what the future brings as far as life and love, and I've given up on trying to even figure out all that, and just want to keep growing and learning even when it's hard.

I went to see a friend's band play down the street last night and had a great time just sitting there by myself letting the sound wash over me. They said it was the worst show they've ever played, but the guitars sounded so beautiful and it was just cathartic to hear. I'm looking forward to checking out Greg Dulli on Saturday night too, indulging in my love of all things angsty and 90's and I hope he does this cover...



This past week I signed my lease and got my key and moved anything I could fit into my little Toyota... boxes and chairs and did I really have that many paintings and blank canvases, all these dishes and CDs, why are books so heavy? I know people are willing to help me move but since this is going to be temporary, I don't want to ask too much of people. And it was just easier and gave me something to do, to not sit at home and eat alone thinking of all that needs to get done.

I did my last big purge six months ago so there was nothing to get rid of except some coffee mugs I'm giving to a friend whose house was broken into and everything including ceramic mugs you can get anywhere was stolen.

My downstairs neighbors are a family I've known awhile, who have cats, two little boys, and two husky mixes. I still have a porch to sit on and a little balcony off the back. A kid my landlord knows is crashing there and cleaned up the floors for me and started painting the kitchen so it smells all chemically lemony fresh. I haven't even unpacked and it already feels like home.

Me and my dad are making a road trip down to the Ohio/West Va border tomorrow, with my camera, a stack of CDs, a two liter bottle of Coca-Cola, ample supplies of apples and tortilla chips, to see his relatives, hear stories, hang out and eat way too much food. I need a change of scene, and the hills outside of St. Clairsville with all the fall colors sound incredibly inviting right now.

I never planned to be moving out in six months or expected to be on probation or that a lot of things in life would have worked out the way they did, but really, I have everything I need and more...

action packed

So I got out of work early, walked down to the West Side Market to meet up with friends for good hanging out, driving to Edgewater, reviving the age-old East Side/West Side debate. One of the guys just moved here from New Jersey and this was the first time he'd been "across the bridge." He's done what many people living here hardly ever do.

Saturday morning, me and a few people from church ended up doing an Easter service at a halfway house on the east side, stopped at home to take a breath, and then hung out with Lindsay for the afternoon. We drove out to one of those historical village things all the way down Mayfield Road, which was completely deserted, and then hung out on Larchmere since it looked like it was going to rain and outside would have to wait.

One of my former regulars runs an African store down there and I haven't seen him in two years, but he served us ginger tea and this other drink that had hibiscus flowers and sugar that looked and tasted like really good Kool-aid if the color wasn't made of chemicals. I ended up learning about his life story, how he got here from Senegal, lived at the Salvation Army, temped and washed dishes and went back to school. He said he wants to share his story with other people coming here and show how they can succeed.

There was an article in the paper this past Sunday about immigration, and I look at places like Toronto or Columbus and how there's so much more going on because they're places that welcome new people with new ideas. It's a shame that our leadership doesn't at least try this.

Easter was beautiful, playing music that morning with some of my favorite people, the Greek guys who live across the street brought us over lots of leftover curried chickpeas and gyro meat, spent the afternoon chilling with the roomie at Edgewater and then stopping by Ethiopian church for dinner before going to my parents' house where I got to hang out with my cousins and family and hear stories about how my high school aged cousin convinced his classmates he was from England and claimed that in England, they speak "The British Language."

America, you need to get out more.

mi familia

I took off a little early from work to get my plates for the Toyota and have the Sexy Saturn towed away to the happy hunting ground that is the A&C junkyard. I felt a little twinge of sadness seeing it go because it really was my first car, and it reminds me of how my world has opened so much in the past two years when I got my license and finally was able to quit my part-time Hell Job in Sticksville and be somewhere pretty awesome.

But then I remembered that I now have a CD player with a better stereo system and ended up finally picking up copies of Massive Attack's "Mezzanine" and Morcheeba's 'Who Can You Trust?' at the Record Exchange in Parma because I've been on this trip-hop kick and I've listened to those albums since high school and it's about time I actually owned them.





I got to hang out with my dad too, which I love because I don't see him as much as I'd like to since he works on Saturdays when I usually stop by my parents' house.
It's uncanny how much of him I see in me with our interests and personality and unpartisan political views and the same way of looking at people.

When people meet my dad, they always say "oh it all makes so much sense now why you're the way you are."

ginka

For some reason I've been incredibly peaceful about losing someone close to me. I think a part of it is some kind of denial, like "she's not really gone," and then you go to the funeral home and you see this stiff body there with all the life gone from it, and it just hits so hard. I can't bring myself to delete her number out of my phone even though I know no one will pick up if I call. I haven't been able to bring myself to write about it even until now.

I wish I had some pictures to post here because she was beautiful and spunky and the two of us would giggle like we were the same age when I'd go over there and hang out with her. She had a hard life and didn't have the opportunities that her kids and grandkids did, but she and her brothers and sisters were some of the happiest people I've ever met.

When we'd drive back down to deep southeast Ohio, to the small town where she grew up, it was always the best family reunions, with lots of amazing food, people playing accordions, homemade wine, and my dad's cousins blowing off illegal fireworks on the back fields as the siblings would trade Polish jokes and tell us we were pronouncing my last name wrong, and tell stories about bailing their youngest brother out of jail in Wheeling for fighting, and my dad would talk about how he and his cousins used to play this game called "Vietnam War" where they'd go out in the cornfields and lob missiles of dirt at each other over the tops of the rows.

She loved to dance, and that's how she and my grandpa met, when she moved up to Cleveland to work at a factory and they would go dancing every weekend, taking the streetcars all over the city to dance halls from Detroit Road to Collinwood. They taught me how to polka in the basement, and unsuccessfully tried to show me how to golf. She and her sisters would watch golf the way most people watch football, and it was amazing. I had offered to move in with her to help her out, but she lived on her own until the end, still driving and getting around and sending me letters with beautiful handwriting.

I know she's in a better place, but I'm going to miss her like crazy. I'm going to miss her jokes and her phone calls and watching Wheel of Fortune with her and hanging out in the kitchen cooking Polish food on Christmas Eve.