can we pretend?

you know what "they" say, if you want to make god laugh, tell him your plans. i hate them a little bit right now. i kind of get the idea that the universe is ganging up on me. it's not that anything particularly terrible has happened. just life: my heart broke. it's ok, i've got glue. my employer dropped me from the group health insurance. it's ok, i'll buy a plan myself. my grandpa died. it's ok, he was 85 and lived a happy life.

but sometimes the irony of the universe that i usually find so amusing is not so funny when i'm the butt of the joke. you know, when the plan that makes god laugh gets severely thwarted from all sides and you have to go to plan x because you've already gone through plans a-w and you worry what's going to happen when you get to plan z, which you assume won't work because plans a-y didn't and you realize you should've been using numbers all along because they're infinite. you know? and this realization comes rather painfully like driving full speed into a brick wall because it seemed to all be working out so perfectly according to plan whatever-letter-it-was, complete with nods of spiritual confirmation from the big guy and then, as sherry carpet once said so succinctly, free will kicks my butt again.

so i have some conversations with that being who's probably simultaneously rolling his eyes and chuckling at (with?) this prideful little mortal daughter of his as she tries to wheedle, cajole, bargain and finally submit to his all-knowing plan. (can i at least see it? please?)

perhaps this is an abrahamic test - when one is asked to relinquish truly righteous desires in the name of god. (melodramatic much, ann?) like abraham and sarah raising the miracle child isaac, through whom the covenants of god would be fulfilled, and then being asked to sacrifice him to the very being who gave them this gift in the first place. its a story i'm still not sure i'm comfortable with. i guess the upside is that abraham didn't have to sacrifice isaac after all - he just had to be willing to - and the lord did fulfill his promises, but only after abraham climbed the mountain, placed his cherished gift on the altar and raised the knife.

so maybe i'm still climbing my mountain (it ain't about how fast i git there, right). maybe i haven't placed my gift on the altar yet. maybe i don't have the heart to raise the knife or maybe i haven't even received said gift(s). it's all very confusing. and until i figure all that business out, i will stock up on sweet sweet nectar of the gods, a few choice scriptures, some words from the wise, a lot of books and several sleeves of double stuff oreos...

and pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars cause i could really use a wish right now.

do you ever just want to be sad?

not because anything's wrong or terrible or troublesome, but just because?

like maybe you saw a commercial* for a board game that reminded you of your brother and you thought, i should get that for him for his birthday, and then you remembered that he can't play it and that you miss him?

i don't think the sadness of someone's death ever goes away. it's no longer the crippling sadness that that alternately kept me awake all night and then cringing from the world under the covers come daybreak, but it's still there. sharper and deeper in some ways, or maybe just clearer**, now that i understand it with 29-year-old wisdom instead of whatever passes for wisdom when you're 17-almost-18.

he'd have turned 31 last saturday - still so young. what would his life be like? would he be married? what would his kids be like? where would he live? what career would he have chosen for himself? would he have served our country in iraq or afghanistan? what would he have thought about that (because surely he'd have an opinion)? i worry that i'm forgetting too much. i think about him often, but only mention him in passing because it still has the ability to make my eyes fill no matter where i am - like in my office writing this post, but particularly if i'm doing something he would've loved like this. were he alive today, he'd have been out in front leading our expedition, running down side trails, winning the gallon challenge and generally leaving his own (infamous?) trail behind. like the time he won a contest by eating, legend has it, 12 raw eggs at scout camp.***

my memories become more and more shadowy and are replaced by the frozen pictures from various albums and i feel like this is a kind of betrayal, to myself and to him. curse my mortal memory that saves every exquisite detail of the night he died and the ensuing grief, but fades the sound of his laugh and what his hair looked like and the way his eyes looked when he was up to something. it makes my heart happy (and a little scared for his mother) how much this one reminds me of him, in both look and personality. so alike that grandma kept calling him alex at our last stimpson hoo-rah.

the connections between experience and people and how those things affect a person is the inspiration for much of my artwork. and so, i leave you with this, the artist statement that goes along with these, which i've probably posted before because they're among my favorites:

"she thought of the rain and fire and you"

and this one, too

"the place with the fireflies"

*because you've been watching entirely too much tv lately...

**for those of you that read this, yes, this post was influenced by her. really i should just ditto what she said and call it good. dear little sister, you are younger in years than i am, but so much wiser.

***for the record, it wasn't that many, but as he said, let the tale-bearers tell their tales...

qotd

that stands for quote of the day. in case you were wondering.

"apparently, filing tax returns is one of those strange laws they expect you to keep when you work in goverment. apparently, no one told the president before he started picking out appointees. but, based on recent events... that whole 'file on time' is sort of a guideline masquerading as a law. it's like the pirate code."

-jennifer gonzalez

but then...we all know what happens to pirates...

i'll be filing my taxes tonight.

a blog for alex

because he needs a happy booty to ya too.

i remember hating my brother sometimes. even wishing he was dead once or twice. but the thought of life without alex always brought me to tears. still does. i've never known life without him. even now, he's still a larger-than-life influence.

and now some meandering:

she hated the forgetting

wisps of memory sliding through her fingers

scattering, dissipating, flying

she watched them

sad

mute, dumb, paralyzed

powerless

if she asked,

would he (could he) bring them back to her?

maybe next thursday

she'll find a jar

lid shut tight

not like the fireflies they caught 

last september

his birthday

and let escape by morning

she wouldn't let go

if he left her a jar

maybe next thursday

and a few happy thoughts:

alex could build the best block towers. and he'd let you help knock them down after mom took pictures.

he taught me to drive a stick. he was even patient about it...mostly.

he let me tag along after him. sometimes, in high school, he even let me hang out with him and his friends. (don't know if i've ever known greater guys...)

he loved star wars.

he was SUCH a geek. but i always thought he was the ultimate cool. he liked ultimate, too.

he had quite the imagination. we tried to create our own secret language once (his idea). i think it lasted about a week.

once, he built a casino in our basement.

he could build forts out of anything...blankets in the living room, scrap wood in a tree, snow caves in the driveway...and he'd let you hang out there, too.

he was smart and witty and could always make me laugh (when he wasn't torturing me...or when i wasn't being dramatic)

i always knew he was a good guy, even when he was holding me down and trying to spit in my face (ok he only did that once). i knew he was someone who loved the lord and loved his family. even his awkward little sister.

love you, al. happy belated booty to ya, too.

in case you were wondering...

about my blog title "kite strings."  in grad school i wrote some vignettes and made some prints* about alex, which came to be known as "the kite stories."  here they are:

Me and Alex and Dad flew a kite at the part across the street. I wanted to hold the kite all by myself. Alex got to. Dad finally let me. He said don't let go! But the wind made the kite heavy and pulled it out of my hands. It flew into the lake. It was a red kite.

I went to play in the woods with Alex but I saw two eyes watching me from the bushes. I ran all the way back home and told Mom. She said I shouldn't let a 'possum scare me. But now I feel those eyes on me all the time.

Grandma told me her tummy is big like that cause she swallowed a watermelon. I bet that hurt.

Mrs. Vincent gets mad when we turn around and talk in line. She said if we do, she'll take our mouths and sew them to the backs of our heads. She said it happened to a boy once. But that wouldn't help. Then we could talk without turning around.

Me and Alex won some goldfish at the fair. We brought them home in baggies. Mom put them in Mason jars so they could swim around. And we fed them every day. But they still died. Mom gave us spoons to bury them in the garden. Just like we buried Alex in the mountain.

Mrs. Vincent told us our pictures were boring. She took my paintbrush and made a dippy sky. So I made a red sun. The other kids saw it and told Mrs. Vincent. She wanted to know why I didn't make it yellow. I don't paint red suns anymore.

It takes a long time to walk around the block to Emily's house. So sometimes I walk the back fence instead. I have to be careful. I don't want to fall.

Graham Glauser was riding his bike in the street. I saw the car knock him over. It bent his bike and he cried. There was blood in his hair.

Erin and Angie's swing set fell over. Me and Alex wanted to go see. Dad said no. We sat on top of the fence and watched. Then Alex jumped into the yard. But he stayed by the fence. Then he went to see the swing set. So I followed him. We were right by our yard, but we still got in trouble.

Mom and Dad wanted us to go with them to the funeral home to see Alex. Abby sat on a chair outside and cried. Amanda and I sat on the couch across the room and watched. That's not Alex. He's too stiff. It isn't him.

They shut the coffin and now I'll never see Alex again. Mom stroked his hair and straightened his tie. She kissed his face. She told us to say goodbye too. I wanted to touch him, but that isn't my brother. My brother is in the mountains.

We followed the coffin outside. His friends loaded it into the hearse. It was sunny and very cold.

*i'll post some of these eventually.