Grinch

I am the Grinch. Every Christmas I end up feeling like a Grinch - I am not sure how to stop. I also feel ungrateful, petty, mean-spirited, and resentful. Gee, and I wonder why I find the holidays so stressful.

I am hard to buy gifts for. I don't mean that in the "no one could possibly buy me something because I have everything" way, but in the "I am impossibly picky" way. I know it - and I have 3 reasons why, art school, moving, small space.

I attended almost 20 years of schooling,most of it oriented towards visual arts, finally achieving a masters in fine arts, an MFA, or terminal degree in studio arts. This teaches you to be precise, to be definite about what you want, and do not want. To have reasons for your decisions, besides, "I like it." To make decisions, not based solely on visual order and unity, but to consider the whole, cohesion, usefulness, etc. There are many things I like, that I do not want.

Then there is the fact of moving. Though I have not moved for the past 7 years, the longest period in my life without moving, I have already moved more then most people ever will. Until I got married I had never lived for more then 3 years in any one address. In a conservative count, I moved no less then 12 times before leaving for college, and then once a year for the next 10 or so years. Why is this important? Moving makes you reevaluate everything you own. "Do I really need this nice black sweater? I have at least 3 others." When you move, you toss things out, and you lose things. Sometimes things you wish you hadn't. The handmade Christmas ornament collection given to me year by year from my Grandma Fritz I regret losing bitterly. Most of the time, you don't even remember what you tossed out. If it is something you really need, you will get another. I seem to be always purchasing brooms and mops. You never move them, but you will need them when you get to your new place. Most of all, moving makes you hate tchotchkes. Little things that are nice, but for which there is no use or purpose.

Christmas is full of these sorts of items, and seems to breed them like dust bunnies under the bed. As I try to live by the William Morris quote, “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful” I generally find these things annoying. What do I do with them? In most cases, they do not fit into my aesthetic scheme, (which is highly developed, see art school, above) they have no purpose, and they take up space. Someone who cares for me, and was thinking about me gave it to me. If I throw it away, am I being ungrateful of the love they give me as well? I cannot keep all of them; do I only keep the ones I find least objectionable? Perhaps I only keep the one or two I might like, if I had a place to put it. Where do I store it until then? Could I send it back to the giver, explaining I would really like it back when I move into a larger space.

This brings us to the issue of space, or lack of it. Terry and I, soon with Hank, live in a 550sq. ft. apartment. 550! That is it! No garage, no attic, and a small basement shared with all other co-op members, which serves as the laundry area, and floods occasionally. Everything we have must fit in our apartment. Most homes in the United States considered small are around 2,000 ft. That is almost 4 times the size of our apartment. Most people have room for nice, useless little things given to them by people who love them. What is one more thing after all? There is plenty of space to store it. Well, I do not have this space, and I don’t even want more space. I like my space. I love my neighborhood. I do not want to move to Brooklyn, or Riverdale. I want to live here, with no clutter, junk, or tchotchkes.

This brings us back to Christmas. Now the holiday is over, and I am broke, having spent my last dime buying useless crap for those I love. Have I finished my Christmas shopping, wrapping, and shipping? Nope. I hope to have it done by March, if I am lucky. I have a pile of “stuff” things to deal with. Not my new Diana camera, which I am thrilled to have, or my book on the philosophy of Buffy the Vampire slayer, which came from my list on Amazon, and is fabulous by the way. Not these items, the other stuff, the things people give you when they want to get you something, but don’t know what, or when they got your name from the family Christmas name drawing, and only see you once every year or so.

This year’s pile includes chopsticks, a small tile, a flashlight, 3 loufa sponges, 3!, a nicely framed set of prints, a vase, and a necklace. Some years, it has literally included everything I received. Since getting married I can always count on Terry to give me things I really love, see Diana camera, noted above. Or things from my list. I always have a list, and I appreciate people who stick to the list. I am like Rachel on Friends that way. There is a list – stick to the list! I appreciate people who have lists of their own, and I am happy to stick to their list. They took the trouble to make a list, they know what they want, I can honor that. Especially if I have no idea what they might like.

So why does all this leave me feeling so sad. Ungrateful, stressed, mean-spirited.

Burma-Shave

Christmas morning at my grandparents was for years a big scramble - amazingly fun, fabulously chaotic, and it took all day to open those gifts! All Day!

As the eldest of Generation 3 - I remember how as each new baby joined the family; the pile of gifts would grow exponentially. Pad and I used to pass out the packages every year - and of course, the smallest, most oblivious one got the most! During the late 1970's and early 1980's there were several new babies born to the family. The family was on quite the roll as we welcomed Erica, and the following year Morgan. Before them, there was a 5 years gap between Pad and myself, and another 5 years between Pad and Erica. We thought that with two babies in 2 years, things were picking up!

As per usual, we took turns opening gifts, making each one last forever! Reading the card
aloud, passing it along to everyone, trying to guess what it might be from the hints, carefully saving the ribbon, and the paper! That took as much time as anything - talking about who bought the paper originally, what it was wrapped in last year, how pretty it was, blah, blah, blah. I don't want you to think I don't love the blah, blah, blah, I cherish it! However, it's getting in the way of my tale.

Finally, Grandma opened a little gift from my aunt Bea. I don't think we even drew names in those days, because there weren't so many people to be included on Santa's list. If I count them, I only get to 14 people, including Erica and Morgan - who were mere babes at the time of this story. By quick count, we now have 24 people in the family, give or take a girl/boyfriend here or there.

As per the usual ritual, Grandma was seriously looking at her gift, a "Brag Book," or small wallet- size photo album. So that a proud grandparent could whip out her grandchildren's photos anywhere, showing them off at the beauty parlor, grocery store, post office, etc. Grandma would never be so bold as to impose upon anyone by showing them photos unasked. I like to think that there are people who would be honored to look at whatever Mrs. Gray showed them, knowing her to be a smart, interesting person, but I cannot imagine her "bragging" about any of us.

The book was empty, and Bea had written a little ditty, spread out over several pages. Grandma was reading them, turning to the last one, said "Burma Shave!" She had the same look on her face that she did when she was trying to solve a crossword puzzle - but hadn't quite put all the clues together. I remember Bea asking her something - and then she knew - it wasn't about the Burma-Shave, it was about the rest of the information. Bea was at the time 2 months pregnant with the strapping young man we now know and love - Michael Montana, the first of the Churchward3.

This happy news broke up the flow of present opening for a few minutes as kisses and wishes were exchanged. The general hum of the room became more animated, and I remember both Bea and Grandma looking as if they were the happy cat who had swallowed the canary. Though it has been many years, I also remember the excitement as we all realized that the family would include one more member at Christmas the next year!

So again I say to you all "Burma-Shave"
Have you guessed yet?
How I do wish I could announce it to you all at once during a big party. Instead, I ask you to remember the fun and love of our shared past and look to the next time we all meet when Terry and I will be introducing our baby to you.

We had our first sonogram last week, and could really see the head - sometimes very clearly. Except when the heart would beat, then the whole thing would contract. Then I thought I was having a Mexican Jumping Bean. This image only looks like a frog - really, it's a baby. When we could see it on the monitor I started shaking, thinking I would burst into tears or laugh hysterically - or maybe both at the same time. It really is a little person growing in there. The doctor commented on the size of its head - (great!) and said he thinks we were at about 11 weeks.

The due date is April 16th, not that I think I will really give birth on that day - but it is my aunt Jane’s birthday, and I would love it to be the baby’s as well.

Much love and I will send along more details when I have them!
Alizabeth

Does anyone have an idea on how to tell Duke?

Info on Burma-Shave
http://www.fiftiesweb.com/burma.htm

June 19!

I have created Franken-Pansy! Well, maybe it’s more like octo-pansy. Who knew you were supposed to dead head them – and pick them! So now, I have created many little monsters! They are all long and weedy looking!

Last night I picked about half of them back pretty far – we do have a very nice bouquet of them to prove it. I’m going to give them a shot of Miracle Grow – and then do the other half.

It’s summer – at last – but it feels like it’s going by too fast! I am afraid that we already have every moment scheduled and have no time to hang out at home. Not that I do not want to go on our trips – Fire Island, Bay View & Kalamazoo, and North Carolina, but I need time to do my work, and clean every inch of the house!

So far, I’ve done little projects, rotated my wardrobe – taken things to the cleaners, I have a huge bag of shoes that need to go in for shoe repair, and I’ve already bought more books then I can possibly read. But I’m not done!

Dad did finish his sail across the atlantic - safely - though it sounds like the last couple days were pretty rough.

Terry is taking the drugs to make you stop smoking - he can't sleep - not a pretty picture!

so far - that's all I've got!

Gardening

This week is spring break. The semester becomes so busy; it is a great luxury to have a break. As our break is tied to the Easter holiday, for the past several years it has been so late in the semester, it has been more of an annoyance then anything else. I am trying to use this time to best advantage, so if I feel like doing nothing, it is ok, for now.

Monday I put in my garden, though it is a tiny square of earth, I do love it. This year I began it in earlier then ever. So far, I have planted crocuses, pansies, and violas. They are bright and happy looking! I need to find some plants for the mostly shady area, however I dislike Hostas, and haven’t discovered my ideal plant yet. This little garden space and activity makes me feel connected to Grandpa Gray, and my memories of him.

I also remember Grandma Gray, and her struggle to keep the garden up to Grandpa’s standards after he died. The first spring, she worked by herself to put everything to rights, and when thinking she was done, went to do errands. On the way out of K-Mart she spied shelves full of yellow pansies, Grandpa’s favorite. She bought an entire flat, and planted those in the garden too. In memory of this loving and tender memory, I always plant yellow pansies.

Though I regularly rake, weed, and turn over the soil, my plot consistently yields rocks, bits of old odd things, screws, and chunks of glass, as befits the yard of a 100+ year old tenement building. It is curious that the earth sends up signals from the past beneath. As I weed, water, and plant I wonder about the history of this space, who has worked it, and what else has gone on here. When 1120 is sold new owners, will work and play in that much beloved garden. I wonder what little clues to its’ past the new owners will find. I hope the garden’s many happy years will speak loudly to the new owners. My greatest hope is that they love, cherish, and use it, embracing the model that has been in place these many decades.

Things

What do I want? What things do I want to remind me of my Grandmother? How do I know what I want? In some ways, I already have what I want; I know that she knows I was there when she was dying. I know she knows I love her, and I know she loved me. These things I know. I will never lose these things. I am not sure if the things I want are possible.

I want to bottle the smell of the house at 1120 Perry St. Maybe it could become a candle. Then I can smell it whenever I want. I want to hear Grandma laugh. She was so quiet, and making her laugh always brought out her smile, and maybe an entry into conversation. You might never know when something might spark a comment or memory from her. I want to see her make that little step skip, dance she used to do when she was feeling especially good. Or the face she would make when you were looking particularly dressed up, or ridiculous. Both inspired a look of delight that would light up her entire face. She might even say “Hey, Hey Farmer Gray.” I can never have these things. Material possessions seem so meaningless in light of this reality.

I know there are things I want, but it is so hard to think about. I want the house to be as it is, with my Grandmother to welcome me home every time. I know I cannot have that, I know that chapter of my life is over. I am not ready to face it. I am thinking about it, but I want to move slowly. I am not in a hurry. Getting used to the idea that she is gone is not something I want to do.

Memories of Grandma Gray

I have so much more to say about my Grandmother, how sad I am that she is gone, how much I will miss her quiet, steady presence, and how much she gave to me. In losing her, I am losing that which kept me safe and loved all my life. In the midst of constant chaos and change, the steady ship she sailed offered me a refuge filled with delights.

She created an always-welcoming fantasy for me, one where “The Twelve Dancing Princesses” always lived on the bottom shelf, Barbie and her elegant wardrobe waited in the closet, and I slept in a beautiful bed, built for a princess with a pink shiny satin comforter at my feet. Meals were served at specific times, included all the proper food groups, and generally ended with a cookie, or maybe some sherbet. The garden seemed a magic kingdom were every beautiful flower grew, especially the beloved pansies and early spring bloomers. On Thanksgiving and the Christmas holidays, the table would groan with delicious food, including the never-ending bowl of mashed potatoes. The two little angles would fly on their candlesticks, and every chair in the house would be called into service.

As I grew up my comings were warmly welcomed, my visits always ended with a hug, and “it was so nice to have you home.” Though I never lived in Albion, 1120 Perry St. was my home in many ways. The biggest reason is that when I was there, Grandma considered me to be home. Many nights would find me reading late, sitting in Grandpa’s big chair by the heating duct. Often I was rereading the books from the bookshelves in Bo’s room, “The Bobbsey Twins”, “Cherry Ames”, or “Understood Betsy”. At 11pm, the light would turn off, leaving me sitting in the dark.

After

On February 26, 2007, Luella Mary Vanderlip Gray died at Oaklawn Hospital in Marshall, Michigan. Born in 1917 to Jay and Florence Vanderlip of Empire, Michigan, Luella was the second of their four children. She was a keenly intelligent girl who distinguished herself quickly as a diligent scholar and hard worker. Luella left Empire at the age of 18: it was the first time she had left the North Country. What courage that must have taken! Her intelligence did not escape the notice of one of her employers, who urged her to seek a university education. Paying for every cent of her college education by working in the university medical clinic, Luella received a degree in Home Economics from Western Michigan University and became a teacher in Zeeland, Michigan. Her second teaching job brought her to Albion where she lived the rest of her life. In 1945, Luella married Ernest Gray, a widower with two young girls, Jane Felton and Mary McPhail. Three children were born to this union:
Elizabeth Ann, Robert Dobson and Martha Ellen. Though she left full time teaching to raise her family, Luella returned to work at Albion College in the admissions office, the library and as an instructor in the Home Economics Department. Luella’s home in Albion shone with the fruits of her labors and her love for order and beauty. She was a brilliant seamstress, an inspired cook, a practical magician, a devoted friend, an unbeatable crossworder, cribbage and Scrabble player, and a voracious reader. Starting from the town of Empire, population 378, Luella’s travels took her all over the United States, Hawaii, and Great Britain. Small in stature, she was huge in influence for her five children. She followed their accomplishments with unstinting and quiet pride. You would find her in the stands of every ball game her son played, in the audience of every piano recital her daughters played, at the graduation ceremonies of all of her children. She loved to dance, she loved music,
she loved flowers and birds, she loved the company of her grandchildren, she loved her private times on the porch swing, novel in hand, radio softly playing in the background. She slipped away from us as she had lived with us – quietly, without complaint, with dignity and courage. Preceding Luella in death were her husband, Ernie (1999) and her oldest daughter, Jane (1999). She is survived by her children, Mary Gray, Elizabeth Gray, Robert (Sharon) Gray, Martha Gray (Fred) Horn, her grandchildren, Padraig (Jennifer) Fahey, Alizabeth (Terry) Towery, Morgan McCullough, Michael Churchward, Jesse Churchward, Drew Churchward, Erica Gray, David (Tasha)Gray, Annie Gray Horn and her great grandchildren, Liam, Nora Jane and Aidan Fahey, Jonathan, and Christian Gray. Her funeral service will take place at the Albion Methodist Church, Wesley Chapel at noon on Saturday, March 3, 2007.

Before

Three weeks into the semester and all my good intentions have fallen away. Not that I wont be picking them up and trying again, but really, how hard does one have to get kicked in the behind? And really what was the lesson of this past two weeks about anyway?

I imagine that when the universe kicks you in the ass, there is some lesson you can learn or take away from it. Instead I just feel incredibly stupid, exhausted, and grouchy. Not the way I want to enter my 40th year. Perhaps the lesson is to stop procrastinating and pay attention to details. This would not be the first time that lesson has been painfully administrated, I have been taught that lesson, but somehow it still hasn’t sunk in yet.

email down! domain registration issues!

aargh!
My email domain name has expired, and I've paid for it to be renewed, and it hasn't worked yet. I've been on the phone 3 times trying to get help. It has taken over a half an hour to speak to an operator who knows nothing! I did call 3 times before I even got to a person - and she knew nothing! AAARGH!! Eventually she have me another number to call, to talk to different people, customer care, instead of customer service! Ha! On hold again! Eventually they answered and said they would "take care of it" and hung up! Customer Service? Does not exist!

So no more "registerfly.com" for me.

I'm stil on hold!

Obsessed!

With a down jacket. Yesterday I saw a woman on the corner as I was walking Duke in the AM. She had on the most amazing down coat. It looked like she was wrapped in a down burrito with arms. That is a good description, yet it does not convey the elegance of the coat. Altogether, she was an amazing looking person – I am guessing Northern European, and in town for Fashion Week. She had on amazing platform boots; a long heavy knit slim skirt, this amazing coat and a pert little hat. Aaah the coat! Now I am wondering if I could make it myself. Cena, want to have a little fashion project? The coat covered her butt, and in the back was half way down her thigh – long enough to keep you warm. At the top, the collar was folded down behind, creating an elegant frame for the head, and room for an intricately wrapped a scarf. One side of the front folded over the other, making a gracefully curved overlap, and included pockets. It really looked good and warm!

I’m obsessed with the idea of being warm, and looking good right now because it is freaking freezing here. When the temperature really dips below freezing, today it feels like 14 degrees, it just freaks me out. I admit it is not rational, but I find it mentally and emotionally difficult to cope with. I start to see the advantages of being a snow bird, and flying south until April!

The only saving grace is the sauna at the gym. I go in there and read until I am warm warm warm. Then I come home. I like to know I can be really warm, it helps to keep it in mind for when I am really cold! I read somewhere that Eartha Kitt spreads Vaseline all over her body, and goes to sit in her sauna, to keep herself looking young! I don’t think I am going to do that, but maybe I’ll put some on my toes before I leave home.

Warm thoughts!

One Down, 16 More to Go!

The semester has begun, and once again, my schedule is wacky! I only have classes on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, but have 3 sections of the same class on Wednesday – which begins to feel like doing a “show” because you repeat yourself over and over during the day. By the end of the day, I cannot remember what I have said to my class, and what I haven’t. I make notes, and it’s a good thing, but it feel a little like the movie “Groundhog Day.”

So far, things have been going well, but I do feel like there is lots and lots I need to do over the weekend to be on top of things. In doing this I do not want to loose sight of my own work, my house, and my self. In the past, I have had trouble keeping a balance, and would become overwhelmed with school. My goal for this semester is to not let that happen, and not lose sight of my personal non-school related goals.

Also, Dad, did you get a new cell number? Where are you?

AAArgh!

This semester is going to suck!
I have 6 sections of photo 1.
SIX!
On Wednesday I am teaching from noon to 9pm. On Monday and Tuesday, I have 10 am classes, which I don’t love. I don’t know how it happened, but my schedule this semester sucks. I am screwed. I don’t want to do it. My Chair, who is scattered at the best of times, does not remember that I was using my last release class this semester. I hate this. I hate feeling out of control and powerless. These things make me hate my job! I love teaching. I love working with students. I hate these stupid, petty items.

The Good with the Bad

What is it about life, about the life cycle that gives us both grief and happiness? Why is it that they exist so close to one another? Maybe it is those oppositional twin emotions, which allow us to fully experience our own humanity, and to further extend ourselves with care, empathy, and tenderness to those around us when they are caught in their throughs.

The Good
Monday the 22nd marked the 35th wedding anniversary of Dad and Martie. I was the tiny attendant at their wedding, which I must confess, I do not remember. But in the photographs, my dress was smashing! Velvet striped multi-colored affair with a sash, and if I am not mistaken, patent leather shoes. And you wonder why I love fashion!

However this is not about me, this is about them. They have weathered the inevitable storms and trials of marriage, and today seem happier then almost any other couple I know. Theirs is a marriage that looks fun, adventurous, and loving. The home they have built (and redecorated!) together is populated with the mementoes and touchstones of a full life. They know, and respect, and love one another in a very real and touching way. It is a model I look to as I approach my 5th wedding anniversary this June.

I am almost done with the gifts I’ve been planning! Oh Gordon, your hat is so cute! I’ll send things off this week, feeling both proud, and a little sheepish. But happy that in the end I did it!

On NPR, love it! I download it to I-tunes, and listen at my leisure. I heard the interview with Bob Seeger yesterday, his voice that takes me right back to my childhood. Perhaps because that is when his songs were constantly on the radio? Especially in Michigan, his home state. I hadn’t thought about him in years, or heard any of his songs, except a few years ago when Terry and I spent 3 weeks in Bay View one summer. We rented a car, and without fail, every time we turned on the radio, the song that was playing was by Bob Seeger. It seemed so odd, that it became a joke between us during that trip. One I happily remembered during the Seeger interview. A memory that made me take stock of the many good times and adventures Terry and I have had so far.

The Bad
Sunday morning Bea called her voice full with emotion. I hadn’t heard it like that since she called to tell me Jane had died. That call though had also held a wisp of relief. Jane was beyond pain and suffering, though our loss was great. This call was different, my first thought was Grandma Gray, but instead it was Richard Churchward. Bea had found out that he was in the hospital, dying of cancer, and given 10 days tops to live.

The father of her 3 beautiful boys, now young men, the husband she spent many years with. The love of her life. In spite of the trouble and pain he had caused at times, he was the one she could still turn to. The father who loved to see his boys play well, all three inherited his love of sport and his skills, which were considerable. Personal pain and demons ruled many decisions he made, but he never lost his love for his sons or fully for Bea.

I remember Martha saying that he was the most handsome man she had ever met in real life. And he was. He could be warm and caring, and often was. He loved to laugh and have a good time, especially if a story could come from the experience, one he could tell with relish, until everyone around him joined in the warmth he shared. When he saw someone he loved, his face lit up. He didn’t even need to smile, he could light up a room with the twinkle in his eye. He could and did talk to everyone and anyone. He knew the names and the stories of the guy at the gas station, the hardware store, the lumberyard, and behind the bar.

I was so proud to the in their wedding. I was ten, and felt very special and grown up. The blue dresses Grandma made for the wedding party seemed to match both Bea and Richard’s eyes. Not that it would fit, but I wish I still had that dress. Richard always made me feel again, like that special girl, even as he commented, that I was growing up quite nicely. He would never not flirt with a woman, no matter the age, race, or figure. To do so would have be as if he had not greeted them at all. And he was the very best kind of flirt, the kind that made you feel good, special, noticed, but never slimy or vulnerable. His was the sort of flirting that made you glad to be alive, and gave you a little more spring in your step.

Bea was trying to sort out the trip for herself and the boys to California as soon as possible, made more complicated by the fact that Jesse was in the UK. As Bea asked, I called Jesse, who was having a hard time with being so far away, and the reality of this dramatic turn in his life. His heartbreak was just as palpable as his Mother’s, a testament to the closeness he shared with his Dad. Jesse had spent the summer in California working with Richard. Among is many skills, Richard was a gifted carpenter. The beautiful log home he built for Sue Nordlinger is one of many examples. Few people had the ability to turn a 2 dimensional image into reality the way he did.

On Monday afternoon, my Mom called, Richard had died. Jesse was still in the air and would not know until he landed. A loving, kind-hearted soul, gone too soon from those who loved and knew him. Let us remember him in our hearts with the warmth he offered us, and reach out to others as he did so easily.

New!

Why have a blog?
Who cares?
Do you really want to read my every thought?
Do you really think I have time to write my every thought?
What am I thinking about?

It has taken me months to get to here, the moment when I have both time and inclination to create a blog. So why the name "Coney Island Baby"? Well, I love Lou Reed, always have, always will. In September, I began taking photographs of Coney Island. Every time I go out there I see things that seem so funny, odd, humorous, and sad that I find myself thinking I should have a blog to let everyone know about these moments. I've been dreaming about the name for months, I sing the song inside my head when I’m there.

Today I am working on things I want to work on, my website for the PSC grant http://actowery.com/psc.html - and a template for a page/stationary for the recipes I am sending as X-Mas gifts. I know it's January, but I am still working on them! It's been a rough holiday season!

The format looks nice though, not exactly "homey, " however, I do not think I am a particularly homey person. Certainly, I have no inclination to make myself at home, or to clean my home. Somehow, I continue to think that one day I might wake up with the urge to clean, hasn't happened yet.

I do enjoy laundry - it is direct, and makes me feel accomplished. In addition, I love cooking, hence my recipes and notes, which I am collecting, and formatting as gifts. These are personal. I like the personal touch, especially for gifts, and generally, the end of the semester is so busy I do not have time to create these sorts of things. Instead of my usual feeling of failure, and disappointment, I have decided to continue, and just send them when they are ready.