Ken's AIDS Quilt Panel

 

Ken died in 1993. I participated the best I could in his end-of-life care, commuting on alternate weekends to Issaquah, spending every possible moment with him and offering respite to his partner, Peter Fraser. We spent the evening of January 3, 1993, with Ken at Seattle’s Bailey Boushay AIDS Hospice, watching him struggle to breathe, moistening his lips and mouth with glycerin lollipops, while his 80-pound skeletal body scarcely made a ripple in the light blanket covering him. We knew the end was near, but finally gave up our vigil and drove back to the condo to try to rest up for what we feared the next day would bring. We rode the elevator up to the third floor, unlocked the door and saw the light on the answering machine blinking like the flashing light on an emergency vehicle, semaphoring the inevitable message. No need to listen to the recording, we immediately knew. It was over. He was gone. Conflicted light feelings of release and the crushing weight of loss remain with me even now.

Ken was born when I was ten years old. Although he was my third brother, our bond was more than that of siblings. He was my own real live baby doll, and I adored him from the moment he was born. I dressed him, fed him, diapered him, and paraded him around the neighborhood in his baby buggy. He was precious to me and became more so as he developed into a bright, verbal, and creative little boy. I remember one morning; he got out of bed and came running into my room bursting with excitement. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, my three-year-old brother said, “Melody! I had a film last night!” and for the first time, he told me what he had dreamed. He never stopped telling me his dreams. When he was in his 40’s and living in Washington while I was in California, he would phone and tell me about his dreams. Or he might call to share the excitement of the first snow of the season. I was the first family member he told the devastating news of his HIV diagnosis. He was calm. I was hysterical. It seemed impossible and yet, inevitable, given the raging epidemic and his active gay life.

I remember his fear of abandonment when I got married. I was then 20 years old, and he was 10. During the ceremony with around 150 guests in St. Lawrence O’Toole’s Catholic Church, he cried out, “Melody! Don’t leave me!” And that was my cry on the day I learned of his diagnosis – a virtual death sentence.

His death ripped a huge hole in the fabric of our family. Sister Valery’s loss was profound. Three years younger than he, they became bonded playmates. They shared a magical childhood populated with a host of imaginary folks, some friendly and some wicked like Grassy Pill, a being who lived in hell which was near San Francisco; she was always making mischief. And there was the marshmallow lady, derived from the Nutcracker Suite, who took naughty children and stuffed them under her skirt where they were doomed to smell her stinky underwear. Ken and Valery shared secrets and fantasies in a world of their own.

In the months following Ken’s death. As executor of his bankrupt estate, I trudged through the requisite busyness: tax filings, insurance dealings, and distribution of his worldly goods. He was cremated and his ashes distributed among me, my sister Valery, and Peter. We held a memorial gathering for him in his hometown of Oakland and distributed mementos to his legion of friends. I kept a coffee mug which, 27 years later, is still in my rotation of cups used frequently.

Still, nothing seemed to adequately memorialize Ken. I wanted the world to know how special he was. I soon learned about the NAMES Project, also called the AIDS Memorial Quilt, and knew I had to make a commemorative panel. But then, life and other deaths got in the way, and my resolve dissipated. In the next decade, end of life care for my mother, my grandfather, my aunt, and ultimately my daughter absorbed my time. Upon the death of my daughter, I became the guardian of my four- and five-year-old grandsons. Responsibility for the boys was truly a gift. They were wonderful children, but I was an aging woman, a single grandmother tending to the needs of the boys and the exigencies of daily life.  My creative energy was drained, and the notion of a memorial panel was shelved.

By the time the boys were around 10 and 11, demands on my time for their care slackened. Hours during the day opened up while they were at school, and when at home they were occupied with friends, music lessons, and schoolwork. I began to feel my creative sap rising again and the desire to make a memorial panel for Ken come to the surface. I had a pattern, a drawing made a decade earlier by my niece, Hollis Blair. A plan of attack for the project began to fall in place: I bought the sewing machine needed to make the panel I envisioned. And who knew? Next, a trip to Home Depot and the purchase of a painter’s drop cloth, a sturdy canvas fabric that could withstand the handling it would receive as part of the AIDS Memorial quilt. I would use it as a foundation and backdrop for the design I intended to fabricate. With a supply of fabrics and a collection of photographs of Ken at hand, I was ready to dive in.

I dyed pieces of the canvas, one strip sky blue, one of grass green, and stitched them together making a three foot by six-foot rectangle, approximately the size of a grave. The design depicted a plant in eight stages of life, ranging from a sprout to a robust thriving flower and finally a wilted and dying scrap of vegetation. Pictures of Ken in corresponding stages of his life would bloom in the center of each flower. I spent days poring over old photos, stirring up wonderful memories – vacations, family Christmases, triumphant events in his life - so many joyous moments captured. There were hundreds to choose from and looking at each entailed time travel and a visit with Ken.

Ken's world expanded when he started school. The picture in the first bud on the quilt panel is his kindergarten class photo. He loved school and his teachers loved him. He formed many enduring friendships but never loosened his bonds to the family. He strengthened ties to the farther reaches of our kin through “All Things Relative”, a family newspaper, which he composed and distributed faithfully.

The picture in the second flower on the quilt is of him during his high school years in the 60’s – the height of the Beatles era. His hair was accordingly long, and his polyester shirts were of vibrant colors. He continued to gather witty, kooky, and bright friends, although he never had a serious girlfriend. He told me he just kept hoping he would meet the “right” girl. He remained closely engaged with the family and especially with his nieces and nephews. He committed to taking each to Disneyland as a tenth birthday gift. He and niece Hollis became partners in running the annual Bay to Breakers race in San Francisco for several years. Each niece or nephew would declare he was their favorite uncle.

After high school, he attended UC Berkeley, our father’s alma mater. While in his senior year at Cal, the Vietnam War draft lottery was implemented. His number was 5, meaning he was certain to be drafted. Because he feared being sent to war, he quit school, joined the Marines, and landed a desk position in Alameda, California. He had escaped the danger of being sent to the war zone and survived the daily personal terror of his homosexuality being discovered. The third flower shows him in his Marine uniform and at the peak of his physical fitness.

When he was discharged from the Marines, he returned to Cal Berkeley and completed a degree in Biology. He later decided a career in accounting would provide him a better income and so, he went back to school at SF State for an accounting degree and an MBA. The picture in the fourth blossom shows him at his prime, physically fit, comfortable with his sexuality, and with a firm footing on a career.

In the early ‘80’s, Ken was very active in the gay life of the San Francisco Bay area and everything that entailed, including carousing at bars in the Castro district and frequenting the bath houses. Every night was a party, and he was out, loud and proud. When the deadly reality of the AIDS epidemic became known, monogamous relationships seemed safer. The fifth plant shows that Ken has plucked a flower representing his choice of a partner.

Although gay marriage was not yet legal, he and Peter Fraser entered a committed union. Peter was employed by a Canadian airline and lived in Vancouver, B.C. while Ken was still living in Oakland. Maintaining the relationship required lots of travel and immigration was not an option for either of them. However, commute hours and distance were significantly reduced when Ken took a job based in Washington. He was able to buy a condominium in Issaquah, and they had much more time together.

But, by then, his HIV infection erupted, his health began to fade, and he had full blown AIDS. The sixth flower represents this decline. He was able to continue working for a couple of years before being racked by a cavalcade of AIDS-related illnesses. He suffered pneumocystis pneumonia, shingles, tuberculosis and blindness in one eye from herpes; his depleted immune system was powerless. Peter lovingly and steadfastly cared for him through one episode after another. The ravaging of his body is illustrated by the next to last plant.

The final flower represents his last days in the AIDS hospice.  He spent about six weeks in with wonderful compassionate care in that sorrow-filled place. I took some small comfort in knowing how many loved him and shared the agony of his death.  I found the suffering of so many young men, many dying alone and abandoned by their families almost beyond endurance. Frequent trips to the chapel, helped a little, but I truly felt as though a part of me had been sucked out, a sensation I can still feel in some measure today.

I am pleased that Ken’s panel is one of 48,000 that travels to be displayed around the country and that it was chosen to represent the month of July in the 2009 version of the annual AIDS calendar. This single panel is dwarfed in the largest piece of community art in the world. The entire quilt would cover 20 acres and weighs 54 tons. Still, it represents only a tiny portion of the 32.7 million who have died globally since the beginning of the epidemic. I believe the NAMES project has served to amplify AIDS awareness. I personally derived some comfort by making Ken’s panel. Sending it off in the mail felt like exhaling after holding my breath a very long time.

 

I 

Home Sweet Bed

 

In four months, I will be living someplace else. I don’t know where and I don’t know how much of my stuff I will be taking with me. And yet, I’m not especially concerned. One thing I am sure of, I will take my bed.

Nineteen years ago, my daughter, Robin, was murdered and I took custody of her four and five year old orphaned sons. In those early days, I felt like a burn victim, seared to my soul with grief and overwhelmed with responsibility; sleep was elusive.

Thanks to the tender empathy of my cousin, Connie Blair Brehm, for the past nineteen years, my bed has been a refuge, a place where I am comforted from my nearly unbearable pain. Just after Robin’s death, Connie asked if I would like to have Grandma’s bed. It had been in use at her home for the previous five years while she had been the caregiver and guardian of our Aunt Helen, the childless daughter of our mutual grandmother. Helen had moved to assisted memory care and no longer used her bed.

Mental images of the bed and 70 years of memories associated with it washed over me.  I had been in awe of the towering bedstead that stood in the small bedroom at Atlasta Ranch in Fallon, Nevada. It dominated the room where my grandfather slept. Although to my young self it seemed odd, my grandmother slept in a separate bed on the south porch of the house. The morning of August 2, 1953, while I was spending summer vacation with my grandparents, my grandfather suffered a fatal heart attack in that bed. My memories of the sad day are always illuminated with a mental image of him drawing his final breath. It’s a gentle and comforting image, graced with thoughts of all that had occurred in that bed which had served since the marriage of Minnie Pauline Nichols and Ernest William Blair on December 26, 1908, in Placerville, California.

The bed was purchased at Sloan’s in Sacramento, and shipped by rail to the first home of the newlyweds in Goldfield, Nevada. Conception and birth of my Aunt Helen in 1910, and of my father, Seward James “Bud” Blair in 1912, no doubt occurred in that bed while in Goldfield.

The bed and the family moved to Tonopah, Nevada, in 1918. In 1922, their third child, Ernest William “Bill” Blair, Jr. was conceived and born, though his birth was in a hospital.

In 1924, the household settled on Atlasta Ranch in Fallon, Nevada. After the death of my grandmother in 1973, the bed remained in Fallon with Aunt Helen until Alzheimer’s disease overtook her. In 1995, the bed and Aunt Helen moved to LaVerne, California, to be cared for by cousin Connie and Dieter Brehm. And there it remained until it was moved to my bedroom in El Dorado Hills, California.

In the past nineteen years, I have moved five times, always making sure my bed was the first thing put in place in the new house. And always, it symbolizes safety, security, refuge, and comfort. The golden glow of the oak suffuses my room with warmth. The seven foot tall headboard protects me while the carved and curving acanthus leaves on top symbolize the angel’s wings of my grandmother watching over and guiding me. The walls around me matter little, I am secure knowing I can lay myself down in my bed, wherever that may be.

Annual Report

November 8 is picture day for the dogwood. The two pictures above were taken today. The one below is from last year. The light was much better for this year's shot, but I also think the tree is prettier than it has ever been. For earlier years, see last year's blog entry. The tree is getting a little big for the spot where it is planted. It's time for me to move so I don't have to face any hard decisions regarding its future.

And sew on. I finished this quilt a couple of weeks ago after nearly four years of off and on work on it. The piecing is elaborate, but the quilting is amazing. It was quilted by the talented long-arm quilter, Ivyonn Galloway. I tried to get a picture of the whole quilt in one frame, but it's too big for anyplace in the house. When I took it outside and laid it down on the driveway, the wind kept picking it up.

Inside the outer plain border is a pieced border of flowers and baskets.

Further in is a border of loosely attached triangles, not quite prairie points, but something like them. Inside the triangles is a stepped checkerboard surrounding the inner pieced sampler blocks (below). The rest of the pictures are intended to show the quilting detail. Click on the photos to get a larger view and see the stitching more clearly.

I really like this beige tonal king-sized quilt, but although I stitched the blocks together, I have no real artistic ownership. The fabric choices, the design, and the gorgeous quilting were all the work of others. My contribution is no more significant than a careful paint-by-the-numbers rendition. I feel more deeply attached to quilts  I have a greater artistic investment in. I think that's why I like the scrappy quilts best. I make them up as I go along. And I have so many scraps!

Autumn in the Ozarks

On Friday, November 1, I at last took the drive along the back way to Eureka Springs. I've been trying to get around to it since early this summer when I went to the Opera in the Ozarks and noticed several spots which were photo ops in the waiting. Fall colors were peaking last week and I knew if I didn't hurry, all I would see is gray, wintry vistas. Autumn in the Ozarks is splendid. Not to be compared with New England's display of homogeneous forests that set hillsides ablaze, the Ozark color is more of a calico variety due to the mixed nature of the hardwood forests. Breathtaking in their own right, but difficult to capture with a camera. You've just got to be there. 

The view above is approaching a bridge crossing Table Rock Lake. I stopped at a wide spot to take a picture and came face to face with a sign that said, No Trespassing, No Exit, No Turn Around. Sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble, but I did either have to turn around or stay there forever. So scofflaw that I am, I put the car in reverse, turned around, and crossed the bridge.

 This building is on the bluff overlooking the lake just beyond the bridge. I'm not sure what it is, some kind of commercial enterprise, but I couldn't read the sign. It has a magnificent view of the lake, but I was unable to capture both the building and the view without getting out of my car. It did make me remember one of my father's tired old jokes: "People who live in glass houses should undress in the basement." Sad to say, the neighbor of this building is a ticky-tacky settlement of mobile homes of the type all to familiar on the shores of the lakes of the region.

 A bit further along my route, near Blue Eye, Missouri, I was astounded to come upon this development -- the last hurrah of Jim Bakker (of Tammy Faye Bakker fame). He is apparently still holding forth on TV, although I'm not sure if he has an audience, and I certainly hope he doesn't have any pledges. The whole thing is just creepy and pathetic. I followed the road into the mostly undeveloped development until I reached it's terminus.

 The buildings in this congregation outnumber the people I saw that day. It has sort of a ghost town feel. Some of you will remember Sam's Town in Cameron Park just before it was bulldozed. I was immediately reminded of it.

 Leaving Jim's Town, I proceeded toward Eureka Springs and continued to enjoy the splendors of the countryside, until, Eureka!

I at last arrived in Eureka Springs. I ate a hasty lunch at McDonald's without leaving my car and headed for home by way of Berryville.  

At home, I put the finishing touches on my latest quilt, "Stash Hash," a 56" x 64" patchwork of 2,688 pieces.

The Trouble With Tribble

The trouble with Tribble is that he has only three legs. Kevin and Rachel adopted him after he had lost his right rear leg in an encounter with a car. It doesn't slow him down much. He is very adept at scrambling up onto high places by pulling himself up with his front feet. He's a bit clumsy and noisy, but very determined. He also has a voice that cannot be ignored. The "Awww" factor with this cat is very high so he gets lots of love and attention.Here he is resting on a quilt I finished while visiting Kevin and Rachel this week.

 I went up to Kansas City on Wednesday evening so I could go with Rachel to her chemo appointments on Thursday and Friday. Thursday's session was no problem. The chemo protocol for Friday is more difficult to tolerate and takes longer to administer. Rachel is such a good patient. She is taking very good care of herself and is doing everything she can to aggressively attack any unwelcome cells in her body. I'm sure she'll be victorious. The chemo had left her feeling a bit unwell Saturday morning when I left. She expects the effects to linger a few more days and then she will be feeling better by midweek.

Kevin is working in Mississippi for the next several months. He comes home Friday night and leaves on Monday morning. Every fifth week he spends at home. It is hard for him to be gone while Rachel is undergoing chemo, but they are coping pretty well.

I expect the holidays will be rather quiet around here. Ben will be in California for Thanksgiving and I think Danny is planning to be there also. Rachel and Kevin will probably not be with us as they will be avoiding travel and exposure to any unnecessary germs while Rachel's immune system is depleted from the chemo.

Rachel's Endeavor

My cradle-snatching son, Kevin (now 49), wed Rachel Hall (now 37) on June 12, 2004, at Unity Church in Overland Park, Kansas. She left her family behind and moved into Kevin's house in Sacramento. Later, they sold that house and moved to Lenexa, Kansas where they live today with three cats and two dogs. It's a three and a half hour drive from my home in Ozark, close enough to get together for important occasions or when we just feel like it.

Here's Rachel at one of those important occasions that didn't occur at either of our homes. We all traveled to Cape Code in May of 2007 for the wedding of grandson Tom Paine and Nichole. A highlight of the trip was a mad shopping trip to Cubby's where we snatched up a couple dozen Cape Cod T-shirts. Rachel is modeling hers in the picture above.

This picture, my all-time favorite, was taken Christmas 2008. She has such beautiful skin and eyes, or in this case, eye. And she puts up with Kevin!

Here's a quilt I made for Rachel. It's king-sized (108" x 112"), made from reproduction Civil War era fabrics, machine-pieced and quilted by hand. 

 

Here's  a close-up of the quilting stitches (nine stitches to the inch). The quilting designs are all original, designed by me especially for this quilt.

And here's the label on the back of the quilt that tells a little bit about what it took to make the quilt. The million stitches and mile of thread refer only to the hand quilting and don't take into consideration all the stitches and thread involved in the machine piecing. All in all, it was quite an Endeavor.

But it is nothing compared to the endeavor Rachel is now undertaking. She was diagnosed with ovarian cancer around a month ago. She has had surgery and now is beginning chemotherapy.  The oncologist feels quite sure they got all of it with the surgery, but the chemo is to make certain it is all eradicated. The quilt is a symbol of the love and warmth I want to wrap her in during her endeavor.

Joy, etc.

Baby Audrey Ash, friend Sharon Harmon's expected granddaughter (due the middle of May), is the new owner of this colorful quilt that was lots of fun to make. 

 "Rhapsody in Red" is the name of this quilt. I'm not sure how practical it is. The fabrics were not pre-washed and I'm afraid the reds will run. The colors are kind of off in the photo above, the one below is a little more representative of the true colors. I'm not sure what to do with this quilt, I will probably try to sell it on Etsy.

This third quilt was so much fun to make. I call it "Joy, joy, joy." It's my favorite of all the quilts I've made to date and I'm sure that love and happiness are in every stitch! I'm sending it to my nephew and his wife, Scott and Sherry Blair in Carson City. I've been working through the family handing off quilts this past year -- one nephew remains, Jason and his wife Kim. I think I have one in mind for them, but it isn't even started.

I keep trying to wind down my quilting activities, but the addiction is so intense, I'm always planning several quilts ahead. I know I have to make at least one more like the one I'm sending Scott and Sherry, because I'd like one for myself!

Tah Done!

Setting the table is not a big deal. Cleaning up my sewing mess is! Can't wait to start in on a new mess next week.

The tree is decorated with all the ornaments I own. Everything that didn't end up on the tree was given to local women's shelters.

Fake holly replaces dead mums on the back deck. Takes much less water.

This table runner is made from a yard of material provided by one of my quilt club members. I made it into this table runner and set of coasters and will give it back to her at our Christmas luncheon tomorrow.

This quilt block is part of a round robin quilt project by our group. We each do a block a month for one of the participating members. When we have completed a block for each member, we will each have an assortment of blocks to make into a quilt of our own choosing.

I actually finished all the items on my to do list from the other day, except one -- I didn't do any reading in Consilience. So, I think I'll go do that now.

Dinner? It's Quilting Time!

 Here's the tenth of twelve table runners. Only two more months and you won't have to see them again. Unless you come to my house, because I do intend to use them throughout the year on my kitchen table. I like the way the padding serves to protect the table top from hot dishes. And in all humility, I think they look nice.

This project has been thirteen months in the making as a block-a-month program from my local quilt shop (who needs bars, when I can get my fix with fabric?). When I first saw it, I knew I had to make it for Hollis, my adorable much-tatooed  Air Force Air Evac medic niece. I customized a few of the blocks to make it more appropriate.

 The Air Force emblem and the Caduceus speak to Hollis' passions as does the block below:

Sorry, this is such a lousy picture. In the quilt as it was designed, this block represented a quilt shop. I adapted it to be a tattoo parlor. The sign over the door says "INK" and the sign over the window says "H.B.'s Tattoo Parlor" The window has a picture of an eagle.

Now I have to clean house. I'm having a bunch of ladies over for lunch (my quilting club, of course) next week and I'm still moving very slowly and carefully, so I have to get started! The Christmas tree is up, that will serve to some degree as a distraction from the state of my house, but I must put away all that quilting gear and sanitize the kitchen and bathrooms!

Limping Along

My knee is still in very bad shape, even after a course of prednisone. I love that drug -- it makes every other joint feel really good, but I fear surgery is the only hope for the knee. I have an appointment for an evaluation with a surgeon on December 19, the earliest appointment I could get. In the meanwhile, I scoot around the house in my desk chair, limp along with a cane or walker, and bide my time.  So, it looks like I'm slowed down for the rest of the year.

As I slow down, the pace of life picks up. Frantic Friday is a case in point. The Ozark football team ended their run toward a state championship by losing the semi-final playoff. It was heartbreaking, but they had maybe the best season Ozark has ever had, at least the best in many years. The game was played in Independence, Missouri, but I didn't attend. Instead, I sat waiting up for the team bus to get home with its load of downhearted, tired, and smelly boys. They got in at 2:30 AM and Logan was in bed by 3. And up again at 5:30 so he could attend a speech and debate tournament. I guess he does well running on empty, because he finalled for the first time in Extemporaneous Speech. I think he's going to really grow into this event. He got home from the speech tournament around 8 PM after a long exhausting day.

Ben got out of bed early Saturday morning, around 1:30 AM, before Logan had arrived home from the football game. He had gone to bed around 7 on Friday evening to rest up before all the excitement of the Leonid meteor showers. I had sprung for an early Christmas present of a pair of binoculars. Equipped with them, a sleeping bag, and flashlight, Ben departed for his overnight backyard adventure. He returned to the warmth of his home (after being locked outside, oops) as Logan got ready to leave early Saturday morning for the speech tournament.  Ben finished up his Saturday events by marching in the Ozark Annual Christmas Parade just as Logan returned from the speech tournament. Busy night, busy day, dizzy grandma.

Sunday was a very welcome day of rest, except for the sewing storm I found myself in the middle of (nothing new about that!). The announcement of an expected baby set my fabric frenzy in motion, and I couldn't stop until I had finished a quilt top for a baby that isn't even expected until May.

And I keep making table runners.

Catching Up

 

September's Table Topper

October

November

Three more to go and this series of table runners for each month will be complete (I started with March earlier this year). I'm pretty confident I'll get through them, but not so sure I'll remember to use them next year. Anyhow, I'll have a nice collection. I'm so wary of cutesy quilty things that I hesitate to make or use anything less than a full bed-sized quilt. But, I'm also getting to a point where it is difficult for me to manage the bulk of a large quilt. So, I see a future of wall hangings, table runners, baby and lap quilts. Be warned.

Football and marching season are extended this year because of an amazing winning season for the Ozark Tigers. Last night's first playoff game was another rout -- 42-7 with Ozark scoring all their goals in the first half. The JV got play time again and Logan was in on defense for the last two plays. The grandma in the stands has learned pretty well how to buffer the cold and scarcely minds sitting in her warm layered cocoon while the game unfolds and the band marches on. The band is performing well this year -- placing higher in competitions than in previous years and bettering their ranking with each performance. It's a really young band -- 50% freshmen -- so they should see lots of success in the coming years. The percussion section (including Ben) scored best overall percussion performance in the last competition -- the first time they have scored a first in Ben's high school band career -- nice way to finish.

The next playoff game is Monday evening. I have a wee bit of ambivalence about all of this -- it's fun to win, but I am ready for the season to end. I'd love to have all of us home at the same time so we can have dinner together in the evening. During the season, Logan has practices after school and doesn't get home till 7 -- Ben has practices in the evening and leaves the house at 6. So, I run a taxi service and a short order restaurant.

Because we weren't home for last night's trick or treaters,  I left a huge bag of candy on the porch with a note to take three pieces each. I estimate there were 500 pieces of candy, so that should have been enough for around 165 kids -- I think we typically get somewhere close to 100. When we got home, the bag was predictably empty, but I'd love to know how long it lasted and how honorable the kids were. I'm thinking about repeating the experiment next year, but staying at home and observing on a game camera.

A stomach flu virus swept through the house and our bodies last week. I am not a good nurse, nor a patient patient. Ben missed a day of school for only the second time in his high school career. Logan was also out one day -- his first high school absence. They were both back in full swing within 24 hours, attending school, practices, and scarfing down what ever they could find to eat because you can bet I wasn't leaving the comfort of my bed (and nearby bathroom) to fix for them. I lingered for three days before I felt human. I'm still dealing with dental woes and have had an eye virus. I'm sick of all this!

While I lay abed last Thursday, Ben was inducted into the National Honor Society, with Grandpa Steve attending the ceremony. I wish I could have been there, I'm so proud of him.

Home Again, At Last!

Logan's home from his visit with Tom, Nichole, and Mallaika. At least I think that's where he was. In typical teen-aged fashion, he hasn't told me much about it, but I'll piece it together over time by eavesdropping when he talks to his friends. I told him to take lots of pictures of the people and what I got was this photo of Brown University's gate, one of his left hand holding a lobster, and one of his right hand holding a large burrito. I'll spare you those and instead post my own food pictures. He did come home very excited about trying to get into Harvard. He has a plan in place to try to establish a project with the Christian County Courts to demonstrate leadership, commitment, and community service, and to bolster his chances for admission to Harvard. It sounds interesting and possible, I hope he stays with it.

He was two days late getting home because of a fierce storm that closed the Providence airport, cancelling his scheduled flight. When I called the airline to rebook him, they told me the first available seat was Friday, two days later. Seemed odd to me, so I looked online and found eight coach seats available on the plane a day earlier. Not willing to spend another half hour on hold while I tried to negotiate for the earlier flight, I left well enough alone. But, I really don't understand. It left me feeling sad about the state of the industry and just a tad anxious about my upcoming trip in September.

Here's my food picture -- the table topper of the month, and the week's haul from the Farmer's Market. I got long red beans, eggplant, and beets from the Millsap's and carrots, corn, and cantaloupe from other vendors. The carrots aren't very good -- woody and bitter, but the rest is yummy. We're having the corn tonight with cedar-planked salmon (Ben gets a cedar-planked veggie burger).

Friday was Ben's seventeenth birthday. He seems so adult in many ways and yet so young in others. I guess that's what adolescence is all about. We celebrated quietly, he started the day with his traditional birthday batch of monkey bread and opening gifts from me -- a few nature and science books. I hope he likes them. And then ended the day with strawberry shortcake.

It's His Story

 The autograph conga line where nearly everyone signed nearly everyone's shirts. Ben chose to wear his back pack to keep his shirt pristine. He gathered names and email addresses in a notebook.

 More autographing takes place in the shade of the dining commons. In the background is the stone building where Ben slept (not air-conditioned and containing the kitchen which was womanned by the amazing Martha Swick who planned and prepared vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free, and traditional meals for a couple dozen people three times a day). The same building housed the boys for the week. The big excitement was the seven false fire alarms in one night -- not too much sleep that night. 

Here's the cast and crew of GLADE 2012. Note Ben front and center.

I wasn't there, so I can't tell you what it really meant to Ben. But, my impression is that it was one of the most important weeks of his life. He developed trust and friendship with the entire group, learned a bunch, and had tons of fun. On Thursday night, Greg Swick, the director, called me and said that Ben had been deeply touched by a song performed by a visiting folk-singer. The lyrics told of a red-headed woman and a man in prison. It moved Ben to want to share his story with the group when they gathered on a bluff overlooking the lake at dusk. Ben spoke to Greg about it to clear it with him and Greg in turn called me to see if I was okay with Ben sharing his story with the group. I said, yes, it was Ben's story and if he felt safe sharing it, and wanted to, then he should. And he did. And he moved many people to tears and unleashed a bonding I'm sure he'll carry with him forever. Some moments you never forget. 

Can Your Dentist Do This?

My dentist has recently moved into a fancy new office, bought a bunch of fancy new equipment, and trained his assistants/technicians in a some amazing new skills and technologies.
I had to have a crown replaced; the underlying tooth had decayed, so the old crown had to come off, the decay treated, and a new crown installed. In the very recent past, this meant  anguishing time spent with a mouth full of goo while impressions were made, a "garbage can" temporary crown, and once the lab had fabricated the new crown and returned it to the dentist a second visit was required to cement in the new jewel.
This week, the dentist removed the old crown, fixed the tooth, and called in the assistants. They placed a device in my mouth which isolated the tooth and yet allowed me to breathe, swallow, clear my throat, and do everything but talk. Then they used a special little camera and began making digital images of the tooth and the space the crown would occupy. Working on the computer in a 3D graphics mode, they designed the new crown. When the dentist was satisfied, they pushed a button and the crown was manufactured while I sat in the chair. It was cemented in place and I went home a happy person. What truly amazes me is that someday this technology will seem primitive.
I don't have a picture of the tooth, so I'll show you my latest table topper.