Bring back the art of hurling

Have I ever mentioned how much I love catapults (trebuchets)? I LOOOOOOOOOOVE them and wish I had one. Full size.

I’m serious.

I’d settle for a tabletop one but a full size one would be outstanding. Unfortunately, I don’t really have room where I live. It would distress the neighbors and be a real property tax hassle for Arlington County. I also think the Department of Homeland Security might find it worrisome to have a large medieval seige weapon so close to the nation’s capitol. Just a guess.

I also don’t know if I could keep from flinging things into the Potomac.

Still, there are so many things one can do with a catapult.

And I am not alone:

Have you hurled today? (TM)
Desktop trebuchet kit
Medieval Seige

Grief

The death of my grandmother this month marked the end of an era for me. I have had the great fortune to have known all of my grandparents quite well and for a respectably long time considering the age differences. My maternal grandfather died when I was in high school, my paternal grandparents when I was in college, and my maternal grandmother in my 35th and her 88th year.

Again, I admit to a wee bit of bias, but I have to tell you that my grandparents were all magnificent people. All of them happened to be good, kind, smart, funny, complicated, and talented. It is my great fortune to have known them and benefited from their wisdom and love. I am certain I am a better person for it. All four of them were strong individuals with distinct personalities and gifts.

My paternal grandparents came from a hardscrabble life in western North Carolina, a tough place to live even now. They raised five children, moving them all over the south before settling back in western North Carolina where three of them – the first in the family – attended college. With five children came lots of grandchildren who were all loved equally and very, very well. We never expected or even considered expensive toys when we had a barn, the house, and a creek to play in. Still, they provided so much more for all of us than I can put into words: love, warmth, security, joy, and lots of laughter. Their love was boundless for each other and all of us. They were forgiving, generous, and fair. I see a lot of them in my Dad of course; as the oldest child, he took on lots of responsibility at a young age and was probably more directly molded by them than his siblings. I think that is the way of things for the firstborn. How lucky for him to have had such wonderful parents.

My maternal grandparents both came from different hardscrabble Appalachian backgrounds; she from the mining communities and he from the mills. Both had family in Virginia and eventually came to settle among them. They only had one child and I think she was about as well loved as anyone could be. My maternal grandfather was a showman, a leader, a tall, charismatic man. My grandmother was a petite, beautiful, inscrutable character. They loved each other to their bones. As the only grandchild, I was a bit spoiled but always brought to heel if needed (and yes, it was needed occasionally). I had the run of the property, the five gardens, the woods, the large lawn. I had a homemade swing out in the poplar tree where I spent many a summer day. As with my paternal grandparents, these two individuals were incredibly smart and sensible. I can see so much of them in my Mom: the strength, beauty, talent, charisma, intelligence.

When my grandmother died a couple of weeks ago, I mourned not only her loss but also the loss of all of my grandparents. I am still mourning them. I suppose we always do. They all loved music, a good joke, and good people. They all lived as they thought best and made the most of what they had. They were all gifted gardeners and farmers and gave me a great appreciation for the land and what it provides. They all loved animals. They all loved the south. They all loved me …and I am an infinitely better person for it. They were four of the finest, smartest people who ever walked this planet.

I miss them.

I hung out with friends for Christmas and all I got was this lousy ho bag

You heard me.

I ended up spending the entire Christmas day with friends and they were very good to me. I knew they would be because, for reasons that I don’t understand, they really like me. Also? They tolerated my weirdness without any seeming discomfort. Perhaps that’s because they’re all keeeeeeeerazy themselves.

We ate too much, laughed a lot, and exchanged gifts that expressed our affection for each other with a smidge of mock and ridicule as is appropriate among friends. However, the best gift of all, besides the time spent with these folks, is the ho bag.

Let me explain.

Elise gave me a gift bag full of gifts that were, themselves, wonderful things. Who doesn’t want a set of Abraham Lincoln pencil toppers? But the bag! oh, the bag is wonderful.

Happy holidays indeed.

P.S. Elise, your Dad told me that calling the bag “lousy” hurt your feelings. If it did, I apologize. However, I think you know that I was using it ironically and that the bag is the EXACT OPPOSITE of lousy.

Magnificent machines

If you are not familiar with Arthur Ganson’s kinetic sculptures wonderful machines, get thee to his website pronto. After seeing him featured on NOVA ScienceNOW, I did some research and ended up buying his DVD for a friend for Christmas. Let me just say that the second we popped it in the DVD player, we were, ALL of us, riveted … completely mesmerized.

The following things were said:

“Cool!”
“How did he figure that out?”
“I want one of those.”
“That took some advanced mathematics.”
“That’s awesome!”
“How long did it take him to get those gears to correspond so perfectly?”
‘That’s fantastic!”
“That is so beautiful.”
“Wow.”

After it was over, we sat in stunned silence for a few moments. And then we watched it again.

Home again

I am back home now being ignored by my cats (who are secreted delighted to see me).

It has been a long week.

I don’t know what good grieving looks like so I will have to tell myself that my occasional tearful episodes are okay. I understand the mechanics of death and I know that my Grandmother is, in a sense, with me right this very minute, but I miss her.

To get you up to date:

After much abuse and teasing, I collected my GORGEOUS shawl from Leslie. I have already had to hide it from the cats who are positive it is for them. Did I mention how GORGEOUS the shawl is?

I have returned home with my grandmother’s binoculars, which are WWII surplus. and I already know someone will ask me what kind they are so let me tell you right now that I do not know. What I do know is that They’re at least as old as me, big, hefty, and pretty powerful. I also returned with a Peterson’s field guide so I can learn something about birds (thanks Dad). I know many of you will be incredibly relieved to find out that I am no longer basking in avian ignorance.

Once again I want to thank everyone who called, emailed, drove for hours to attend my Grandmother’s funeral, and left comments here for me. The time you all invested in those activities moves me deeply.

I’ll be back to my old sarcastic, annoyed (and probably annoying) self soon. Consider yourself warned.

Update: The birds that were fluttering outside the window tormenting the cats a few weeks ago are House Wrens.

Tree

There used to be a swing in this tree (the one on the right). I probably spent thousands of hours on it … but not in the winter.

Unclouded day

One of my Grandmother’s favorite hymns is Unclouded Day. It is an old hymn not often found in newer hymnals. As often happens in the winter, we had to schedule the funeral around the weather, and while it was just too cold to hold the service graveside, it was lovely to sit in the sanctuary and hear the choir sing Unclouded Day a cappella knowing that it was bright and sunny outside.

The church was full of friends and family. It was also full of love, admiration, and respect. These are good people up here on the mountain. Some of my friends came from northern Virginia to be there for me and I am eternally grateful to them. Others are making donations in my grandmother’s name and I am absolutely delighted by their generosity.

As is typical in rural communities, my parents received more food than they can shake a stick at and have had many visitors and cards. Perhaps I am biased, but my Grandmother was rather well loved in these parts. She was part of the fabric of this community for most of her life, a fabric that is woven with lots of texture, color, strength, character, humor, hardiness, warmth, and beauty. I saw many, many familiar faces and they all came to express their love and admiration of my Grandmother. It was an honor to be among them.

A friend said that when his mother died, they were simply gathering at the funeral to bury an empty box because she was all gone, having used up all that she had on her family. I think that holds true here too. While I am not big on rituals for the most part, it was truly healing to come together and gain closure on a life well lived. Funerals are for the living; the dead are already gone.

My grandmother lives on in me in many ways. I have some of her features, our personalities are similar, and I have picked up sayings and mannerisms from her over the years. She taught me, among many other things, about the night sky; how to make a good pie crust; what constitutes beauty; a love of literature; how to scan the ground for various artifacts; what it means to “act like somebody”; and that it is important to be true to yourself.

She had a lifelong love affair with nature, learned all she could about it, and shared that knowledge with the rest of us. She particularly loved butterflies and that is how I choose to think of her now. Like a butterfly, she has simply transformed and now lives another existence. The essence of her is still all around though, fluttering in the breeze. I will think of her all the time but particularly when I see a butterfly, the Milky Way, and the warm sun on an unclouded day.

—–
Many thanks to all of you who expressed your condolences to me. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.

Gone

My grandmother died this evening and I am sitting here typing because … because I need to I guess. I was already gearing up to drive home tomorrow and visit her at the hospital. The good news is that I don’t have to go to a wretched hospital.

The bad news – awful, depressing news – is that I will never see my lovely grandmother again.

She loved diamonds and nature, good books and jokes, and her family. She always smelled of soft perfume and was the most feminine woman I have ever met. And the strongest. Author Lee Smith one said that mountain women are as frail as coal trucks, and so they are. My grandmother lived 88 years mostly on her own terms. She was wise and mysterious, funny and gentle, beautiful and determined. There’s not enough space on the Internet to tell you how much I love her, how much I owe her, and how much I learned from her.

There’s also not enough space to tell you of all my regrets, all the things I should have done and said. I am old enough to know better, but somehow I thought she would live forever. I thought there would be time. I thought we would laugh together again.

Thank you

I’m heading home tomorrow for the bedside vigil for my grandmother. Perhaps she will rally but I don’t think so.

I have wonderful friends – some of whom I’ve never actually met – and I want to thank each and every one of you for being so fabulous. You are the most supportive, wonderful, generous people I could ever hope to have in my life.

Thank you. You rock. And I love you all.

The Music Genome Project

Very cool, this Pandora thingy.