The “Wizard of Earthsea” audiobook available through Libby (the public library audiobook app) is different than the commercially available version, and cannot be found for purchase anywhere. This is a TRAGEDY. It’s read with sputtering, wide-eyed excitement and obvious love by Harlan Ellison, and is a DELIGHT.
In an opinion piece for the Guardian, George Monbiot argues that mass protests are “essential” to force a political response to climate change.
As the environmental crisis accelerates, and as protest movements like YouthStrike4Climate and Extinction Rebellion make it harder not to see what we face, people discover more inventive means of shutting their eyes and shedding responsibility. Underlying these excuses is a deep-rooted belief that if we really are in trouble, someone somewhere will come to our rescue: “they” won’t let it happen. But there is no they, just us.
The political class, as anyone who has followed its progress over the past three years can surely now see, is chaotic, unwilling and, in isolation, strategically incapable of addressing even short-term crises, let alone a vast existential predicament.
“Get in the car, goomba.”
“I’m not a goomba.”
“You’re a roomba-goomba.”
“That’s… I’m not… that’s not even a thing that’s possible! What is that?”
“Well, a roomba is a robot that vacuums people’s houses, and a goomba is a mushroom person that walks around, so a roomba-goomba is a robot mushroom person who walks around, vacuuming people’s houses… I guess.”
“I’m definitely not a roomba-goomba.”
“I don’t VACUUM.”
Not that long ago, I walked into my grandma’s house and found the garage decked out in fourth of july red white and blue from one end to the other. The decorations continued into the house itself, and I asked her if she’d had any help setting everything up.
She laughed, once, hard, the way she did. “Ha! No. That’s all me. I do that.”
I looked at her – closing in on ninety-four at the time – and then I looked back at the stairwell leading into her basement.
The one with twelve foot high walls rising up on three sides.
Which were ALSO decorated.
“How’d you do THAT?” I asked her.
She looked at me, and learned in, and said “Ain’t I something?”
And she was.
It’s difficult, maybe impossible, to sum up a life. Anyone’s life, let alone one as long and rich as my Grandma’s.
It’s a tiny bit easier to look at the effect someone had on the people around them – the stories about them; what they said, and what they did; the things they taught us.
I asked my family for some of the things they learned. This is what they shared:
- The world always looks better through clean windows.
- Wash your face, your neck, and your ears, even if you can’t wash anything else.
- The food you grow yourself always tastes better.
- Never move into a new house with an old broom.
- Always sift your dry ingredients before you start baking.
- You don’t quit when you’re tired, or if things gets hard; you quit when you’re done.
- If you don’t have time to write letters, send birthday and Christmas cards and jam every square inch with whatever you would have written in those letters… and if you start to run out of room, just writer smaller and smaller and smaller until it all fits.
(My mom learned that one pretty well.)
And here’s another one: when you’re sad, crying is ok – but so is laughing.
Grandma showed us living your faith was in the quiet way you give, serve, share, and show patience to those who need it the most – not how many Sundays you made it in to church.
She showed us love can find you, even or especially when it seems like it never will again.
Grandma showed us how to milk cows, feed calves, and carry buckets of water that were – at the time – almost bigger than we were.
We learned early, watching her, a woman can do anything a man can. She never told a girl there was any job on the farm they couldn’t do, and she never told a boy there was a recipe in her cookbook we couldn’t manage, if we were willing.
She tried her best to show us how to make bread as good as hers – even if none of us ever managed it; it was enough to try, and even better if we tried with her, in her kitchen. In fact, she shared every recipe she knew, gladly, from caramel rolls, to chicken, to squash casserole so good we’d go back for seconds, and then go back for thirds, put whipped cream on it, and call it dessert.
My kids remember that, and holding her hands, and the bowls of candy she somehow always had set out, and the fact she had the fanciest, best decorated garage any of them had ever seen.
Everyone who shared some of their lessons with me, including my kids, eventually wound down to the same thing, by the end: “These are just a few of the things I remember – there are a thousand more.”
And of course there are. In a life that touched so many, for so long, it’s impossible to fully take in the impact of our mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and friend.
So how can we remember her?
I would say: think of the small things – the little lessons, the tiny moments, the snippets of advice.
When you holler “no dirty feet in my clean sheets!” remember why, and share that remembering with someone else. Tell that story, and then tell another one, and another; as many as you can.
Some will make you sad, and you’ll cry. Some will make you sad, and you’ll laugh, and that’s okay too.
Don’t worry you’ll run out. There are thousands.
We are, all of us, a collection of stories, when you come right down to it, and Floy Jean, my grandma, was a good one.
She was, in her own words, really something.
More to come, but for now, this:
My grandma is dying.
I’m throwing random crap onto the internet to distract myself, but the Fact of the Day is, my grandma is dying.
She’s 95 and, until a year ago, hadn’t been in the hospital since delivering her youngest kid. All her current medical issues boil down to “she’s never been sick a day in her life and everything’s just worn out.” She’s a wonder, and I’m unspeakably lucky to have had her in my life for nearly FIFTY years and been her ‘precious first’ of the grandkids.
But… that’s all just facts.
It’s my grandma and I’m stuck in Colorado and I’m basically eight years old and trying not to cry in school, right now.
Nothing makes sense and I keep finding myself staring out the window at nothing.
Me: We need to take breaks, guys! Work-life balance is a thing. Go for a walk! Unplug! Stop working through lunch and weekends!
A few years ago (two years, actually), I had a Pebble watch I loved. Charge lasted well over a week. Waterproof. Good app selection and functionality.
Then it stopped working (would not charge for love nor money), the RMA/troubleshooting process took two bloody weeks, and just as it was wrapping up and I had gone through the tooth-pulling process of convincing the company I was owed a replacement watch, they were bought out by Fitbit and all replacement warranties were rendered void.
Fast forward 18 months and two poor replacement watches, it’s May of 2018, and I have a new Fitbit Versa with which I am well pleased. Nice long charge. Waterproof for swimming. Great fitness tracking apps, which it turns out I have even more use for these days.
And, four days ago – stop me if you’ve heard this part – it stopped holding a charge; used to go four or five days between charges, and it was down to a matter of hours.
Fuck, I thought (and said, repeatedly), here we go again.
THIS time, all I had to do was contact them in a text chat this morning, charge up the watch, made sure it synced throughout the day so they could see the battery stats, wait for it to die (which it did, like… clockwork – ahem), and contact them again.
Five minutes later, a replacement watch is on the way. No muss, no fuss.
A pretty decent new year’s gift, as far as I’m concerned.