The Furious Spinner

It's after eight p.m. We're sitting on the back porch. Mario took my photograph as I was writing this post. I just finished watering my daisies and vegetables. I put the sprinkler in the Kuan Yin Peace Garden to water the little williams and sunburst coreopsis. Mario is reading beside me. Later we'll walk around the 'hood.

Today I went over to Linda's. Her daughter and Nancy, a close friend from Portland, were also there. We sat in the garden in the shade. Maggie and Jimmy stayed near. Jimmy seems sad, needy. Linda says he's been that way since The Gathering. Hummingbirds manuevered their beaks into blossoms, butterflies flew here and there while Nancy and Linda discussed what kind they were. Various birds sang or called out. It was peaceful and hot while we discussed what each of our responsibilities would be once Linda died.

Serena brought out cherries for us just picked from the hundred year old tree outside the flower garden. It was the tree I used in my ceremony when Linda asked for more time, so she could get things done, more time to feel good again. We ate the cherries together, then tossed the pits over our shoulders.

Linda had me read outloud a passage from Emmanuel's Book that she likes about death being like taking off a too tight shoe. Then she read a passage or more to us. I'm writing the memorial and organizing it, so I needed to know what she wanted. Serena told me what song she wanted. They both stressed that they didn't want sympathy or a lot of people around. I mentioned that at Dave's and then Sheila's memorials friends and family members stood up and talked about the person who had died. Linda liked that idea. She wants a celebration and a feast on this land that she loves. We tried to figure out how many chairs we could get in the garden. Or should we have the pasture mowed and have it out there. If it's hot, people should bring umbrellas. I promised it would be a great memorial—earthy and wonderful and she would love it.

A vulture circled overhead, and I said what I always do, "Not dead yet!" And Linda laughed and agreed. We laughed a lot. I'm not sure now what we laughed about. Some of it was lightheartedly macabre. I told some of my favorite stories about Linda. How irritating it is that she knows everything and she really does know everything so you can't catch her on anything and go, "Ah-hah!" Or how I could buy a dress for $4 and she'd tell me should could have gotten it for fifty cents. Stories I've told again and again. She likes them. We talked about when we first met. We all told stories. We talked about her life with her daughter, old loves, sex.

We talked about her body after she died. Did she want me to do anything, say anything? "Sure, if you want. I won't be there. But I'll be watching." We made jokes about her "not being all there." We talked about the chickens that had been in the road when I drove up. They looked like they were dead, sprawled in the dirt like that. Linda said they were holding out their wings to get rid of the lice. Lice can't stand the intense heat. "Whenever an animal dies," she said, "you watch. All the lice jump out." "We better stay clear of you then when you go," I said. She laughed. "Yeah, that's right." She reminded us that her initials are LAF: laugh. "That's who I am," she said.

It was tender and hard and wonderful. We've talked about her memorial before, but this was the first time with all three of us. I think it really helped her to do this. Probably helped us, too. She could live on and on, and that would be wonderful.

When I left, she told me she loved me, as always. I didn't hug her in case I'm contagious, but I called out, "Big hugs and fat sloppy kisses!" as I left. Jimmy and Maggie wanted me to take them for a walk, but it was too hot, so I told them I would do it next time. I drove home.

The sun is almost down now. I can't see any more bees on my lavender bush. No more dragonflies darting back and forth. My sweetheart sits next to me. Almost time to go in for the night. Serena was taking Linda over to a friend's house tonight for dinner. I hope they had a glorious feast with lots of laughter. 5 comments

5 Comments:

Kim, you are looking particularly beautiful these days. And I want to thank you for living and then sharing with us, your faithful readers, how to walk with a friend right to the Threshold with love, truth, flowers, good food, laughter and tears. Such a model!

Patricia

By  Patricia, at 6:29 AM  

That's an amazing portrait Mario took - what a beautiful, intense gaze, woman, photo. It's neat to have a mental picture of the two of you from the recent pictures!

Reading about this passage with Linda and the presence and witness of everyone involved is really moving - this seems all as it should be, but so rarely is.

I wish you all joy, and peace.

By  Theriomorph, at 8:22 AM  

Kim, it IS a wonderful portrait and I so enjoyed seeing it here. Reading your words about Linda made me cry, thinking about what a courageous warrior she is, and about your own courage in walking this difficult road with a friend. I have been down this trail a few times (the last one in October last year), and it is a heartbreaking one to walk with a friend.

By  kerrdelune, at 5:00 AM  

Thank you all. It's the first photo I've seen in over 20 years that I thought looked like me, in and out. Serena said I looked mad, but if you've heard my theory on communication styles of people from the East (including some peeps like me from Michigan) and people from the West, you'll know that makes sense. Intensity is seen as anger or aggression. I'll post some pics later that she liked better.

I'm honored to be part of Linda's journey. All of us have to deal with death. Linda is giving those of us close to her an opportunity to look at it without so much fear.

By  Kim Antieau, at 8:43 AM  

Happy Birthday, Ira! These are wonderful photos, and the circle of life radiates from every facet, every color, every smile...Four yrs ago two friends passed withing 4 months of one another, one 47, the other 50. And the way they did so said so much about each of them. What Linda says, what Serena and you and Mario say, it is all incredibly moving. Words almost aren't good enough to describe it.

Pam

By  Pam C-Y, at 3:37 PM  

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