Epiphanies and my dislike of technology in the classroom.

Dear Leigh, 

A little while after I wrote that last post, I reached some of the same conclusions you did.  It dawned on me in poetry class, actually...we were working through some Jorie Graham (amazing poet), and my professor mentioned that the next section of Graham's book of poetry focused on standard events in the life of a woman (or anyone, really).  Suddenly I realized that here was a woman writing about a life not remarkably different from anyone else's and doing it in a way that brought out the emotion and movement of ordinary occurrences.  What she does is beautiful, and, though it mirrors ideas that other poets have had and events that others have experienced, it brings out something that only she can articulate.  If Jorie Graham can write about being her--a woman, a wife, a mother, a daughter--then I can, too.  Those things that inspire me have so often felt unworthy because of how ordinary they are, yet those are the same things that led Graham to write and gain respect in her field.  

So I don't have to find something to be passionate about outside of myself and my relationships, which are what really drive me, to write or paint in a meaningful way.  My work may not be like Jeremiah's--it definitely won't be--but it can be equally good.  I guess that my primary realization was that it isn't that I don't have passion, it's that I don't recognize the passions that I have as passions worthy enough to be pursued within the academic realm or extended into my creative endeavors.   

***break for department meeting***

Since that day in poetry class, I've been noting the images and memories that affect me and have taken up the project of writing about what it's like to move through this world as the person that I am.  The connections that I make between separate and seemingly unrelated moments are, in my opinion, what can separate my writing from the cliche writing about boys and friends and going from adolescence to adulthood (not sure I'm quite finished with that).

As for following J wherever he might go...I'm like you with the captain.  I'd follow my intense writer/procrastinator/banjo-er/guitar-er halfway around the world if that's where he wanted to go next, but I think that part of love--outside of a force that will move you out of your comfort zone--is a compatibility that means that following the one you love wherever they want to go isn't necessarily the antithesis to doing precisely what you want to do for you.  

What I mean is that, though I will go to whatever place J wants to attend grad school, I'm confident that the place he chooses will have opportunities for me, as well, both socially and professionally.  I'm also itching to get out of Blacksburg...I'm excited to go someplace new.  And I'm excited about our plans to eventually come back to good old southwest Virginia and build our own place--on land he will likely inherit--not just because he proposed the idea (I didn't have a clear one in mind) but because it hearkens back to my little-girl dreams of living in the country and producing at least some things for myself.

On a different note, I'm concerned about the direction education is heading. We just had a meeting about ePortfolios, and I find that the faculty are more focused on incorporating technology for technology's sake than they are on incorporating it when it has a clear and useful purpose.  Just because it's new doesn't mean it's progress...so many times the computers only serve to complicate things further and add work for teacher and student alike.  I also disapprove of this "student-centered" learning in which we are encouraged to coddle students with short-attention spans who don't like to read books.  I refuse to bring unnecessary technology into my theoretical classroom just because kids nowadays cannot pay attention or take notes.  Why should we accept the decline of reading and real critical thinking and communications skills?  College is a place to be challenged, not a place for hand-holding. 

In my opinion, anyway.

I'd love your thoughts...hope you're well.

Love,

Kate

An Optimistic Soap Box

Dear Kate,

I read the date of your last letter and was riddled to shame at the length of time I’ve allowed to lapse for my response. However, as I re-read your thoughts, it sparked the same emotion I felt the first time I read your words a month ago. Why it took me so long to respond… I don’t feel right making excuses, because there are none.

The emotions corresponding with your words first dealt with your talk of following J wherever his life may lead. Upon first glance, I fluffed up my feathers of female independence and thought NO!! You should be foraging your own path, and fitting his life to yours. But then I realized my own shoes would follow the capt’s half way around the world and back for two reasons. The first reason is simply because I love him so much, I would never want to be apart from him. His life and mine flow along the same path so effortlessly that I do not feel I am losing any part of my own identity in accompanying him. The second reason is as simple: his life would lead me on the road of adventure I so much adore in this existence. So my thoughts back to your willingness to follow J – I pray that his life will lead you on that adventure, positively influencing your life’s accomplishments. I know you have the commitment with him, I simply pray the second piece won’t lead you into a life of settlement. I do believe you know as well as I that life is truly an adventure worth living.

The second emotion that bubbled from your letter deals with comparison. You are a wonderful person: intelligent, talented, creative. Yet you compare your gifts to those of J. You should be looking to him more for inspiration perhaps than comparison. You are both truly differing people with differing abilities. I fear when we begin to evaluate ourselves against those we admire, we will always fall short. We will never be good enough – You really have your own talents and passions without need for personal judgement based on another's life. I have found that I could many times set my own self up for doubt if I compare myself within YOUR shadow, rather than using it for inspiration. You amaze me, yet I know I have my own abilities outside of your glow. There is no comparison. I fear that when we stumble into a life of “us vs. them,” we set ourselves up for certain failure! We will never be as good as “them” because we are “me’s.” You are the individual with the individual talent – a talent you need to tend to rather than compare. I’ll never be as good a sailor as the capt, but that’s ok, that talent belongs to him. I am simply along for the ride, silently learning as much as possible to become the best I need to be at his sport.

Finally, as to your thesis: Sometimes the topics we choose as “easy” may be those towards which we feel some form of passion. In other words, what you may consider “easy” may not be so for another whose passion falls in another field. For you, your love is in the evolution of the short story. Another may hate the idea of the evolution, and rather focus on the writers choice of pen name. There are so many pieces. Like I mentioned before, both in my previous letter and within this paragraph, passion is that in which we find ease because we love the topic so much. You need to write about what you love: music, thrift-stores, painting, short-stories. Don’t feel your life is so humdrum that you believe it would make for a boring tale. I believe Jane Austen’s tales were not about very interesting lives, yet she wrote them with her own passion – threading that flow of emotion needed to grasp a reader’s adoration. Simply: it is fine to write about those things which are “easy” because they are often the things we care most about, thus weaving the ribbon of interest based upon our own experience and zeal.

Best of luck to your writing, ma cousine.
Paix,
Leigh

Dear Leigh,

I know exactly what you mean.  Though I enjoy many things--a good book, writing an interesting sentence, painting, awful fashion shows on tlc--I tend to lack passion about any of them.  It's become particularly apparent to me in the last few months, when I've found myself faced with the question of what I want to do after graduate school, and when I've found myself questioning why I'm here to begin with.

From the beginning, the professors reference our THESIS, that horrible paper we'll be writing next year, and from the beginning I've been trying to figure out what mine is going to be on.  I like creative writing, and I like reading, so maybe I'll look into the evolution of the short story as an American genre, yet this idea fails to excite me beyond "oh, that'll be relatively easy to write about."  Other people have chosen eras that they love, authors that they love, yet I...I just like to read.  I like a good story.  I like to know about the people who wrote the story, and I like to know how that comes through in their work.  Yet, still, none of it excites me beyond "oh, that book sounds interesting; I think I'll read it if I can find the time."

Then I watch and listen to J, who agonizes over his stories, who turns out wonderful and original prose, who can argue passionately about a number of things, and I feel as though I'm failing in some way.  As a human, am I not supposed to have a calling?  

I haven't touched my most recent painting in a month, I can't seem to come up with a good story let alone finish one, and a thesis just sounds like a chore to me.  Afterward...honestly, I'll take a job wherever J plans to finish grad school, as long as it pays okay and seems somewhat interesting.  I'll have weekends to clean and do my little hobbies like sewing and painting and thrift-store shopping...

It seems like I'll live a life where my passion won't be translated to paper.  I'd love to be a writer, but my life up until this point has been entirely too average, and I don't care to write about it.  I wish I could make it relevant to others, and I wish I could think of an era of English literature that inspires me, but the truth is I just want to be able to enjoy my family and small occupations comfortably, and that's not really novel-worthy...

So I don't really have an answer to it all.  I feel similarly to you, and most of the time I'm pretty much okay with that.  Every now and then, though, I wish I had an intense interest in medieval linguistics or...Rudyard Kipling...or...writing the next great american novel.  I just don't have that thread, as you say, to weave through my writing that makes it exciting and relevant enough to be said to have passion except on the most superficial level.

My cat just began to snore.  I think it's time to go to bed.

Love,

Kate

Prioritizing Passion

Dear Kate,

I love the memory given by your mother in her letter. Here was her daughter, wanting a walk, but content to fend herself. Consequently, mom reevaluates the importance of her choice in this situation, and decides instead to spend good quality time with her daughter. So often in our society we miss this quality time…Look at your closest relationships now. You, like me, are content in solitude, but appreciate good quality time spent with those dearest to our hearts (though the actual number within that intimate circle only requires the use of one hand to count).

Just now I sit writing you, alone in my home, content with the music in the background and the snoring of the herd. I had spent some needed time reading a great book, a gift from the capt. costing him only a quarter. Soon I will be leaving for a drive over to my brothers, and though capt has had a long rough day, he has chosen to ride with me the hour’s distance to Destin. I have to go regardless and would have gone alone, but he who had the choice decided going along for the ride mattered. And I love him a little more for that decision. Now this obligatory ride will become one of good quality time spent with a wonderful companion…a nice break from the monotony of obligations.

Alluding to your letter though, these sacrificial decisions must be balanced on either side of any relationship for bonds to hold. It sounds like your friend in Atlanta demands all from you with little to return. I do not wish to make assumptions, but I do often find myself constantly in the shoes which cause me to bend backwards to others. And slowly it results in great weariness. I find I often have to take a step back and let the plate fall. If it doesn’t break, I’ll eventually return it to its place. (Luckily the doc’s plate shattered, and I am a happier person for it!) So I pray for the sake of your relationship with Atlanta – I pray she assists in keeping the plate of your friendship spinning, so you alone are not drawn to weariness, risking the break of a special relationship.

Now to shift topics –

I finished a book New Songs in an Old Café by Robert James Waller. It is a collection of essays written mostly for the Des Moines Register. I bring this up because I felt his essays were filled with such passion! This passion emitting from his pages led me into deeper thoughts. One essay, which actually is a commencement speech, deals with the topic of Romance. And I get it. I felt it did a fairly good job describing my lifestyle: open to the joys of life, in whatever form they may mold – music, nature, solitude, poetry. Like I said – I get it. When not bogged down by family strains, I embrace those joys of life: the dawn of a new day, the colors of a sunset, the uncertain adventures taken in life, the tune of a strummed or hammered dulcimer, the acceptance of dogs unconditional love. It is all beautiful.

But I do tend to lack passion. This passion is not directly spoken to by Waller, but you can feel it in his works. I discussed this with a friend over lunch, and friends idea was practice…the more you write, the more passion becomes apparent. I agree with this, but I just feel there is something more. I once learned at a soccer camp that practice made permanent. If I continue to write with lifeless allure, then my future writings will continue to embrace nothing. I think, obviously, we need to write about topics of which we devote a great deal of care, and to immerse yourself into that about which you do care. Learn it, live it, feel it, understand it. This way you can accurately defend your position with not just scholarly knowledge, but experience. This passion draws you towards certain books, events, adventures, lectures. And when you write about said experiences, your words flow from your mind faster than your fingers can write. There is such energy emitting from your pencil, others feel rather than read your writings. Back to the Waller example, his essays may not have dealt directly with things which interest me, but I felt emotion boil up inside as I experienced his words.

So, my question…where is my passion? (rhetorically speaking) Where are the emotional ribbons I need to weave through my words? What do I care so much about that I am leaving feelings rather than ink? I like many things, sure: natural freedom, local produce, French lifestyles, panting dogs, irresistible food, sensational grace. Yet I feel I lack that extra oomph to passion. I’m not upset over this, just in awe. I pray perhaps this realization will spark a desire to deepen my knowledge in said areas, so I too can write with the emotional conviction seen in so many writers (Kingsolver, Lamott, Bryson, Quinn).

Paix, ma cousine,

Leigh

Spinning Plates

Dear Leigh,

I love your plate-spinning metaphor.  Reminds me of a Radiohead song...I'll come back to it.

For now, I have to focus on the strange tension between wanting to be left alone and not wanting to be alone at all.  I can't really expound on being happy flying solo, because (though I found plenty to do with my time that I don't do so much now) I wasn't happy on my own from the day I understood that each person is supposed to have somebody.  Even in first grade I pined over some boy or other.  It's acculturation.  Occasionally over the years I've hit points where I felt content on my own and proud of what I did with my time, but always I returned to a place where I felt bitter toward people yet ultimately wanted to be a part of the successful heterosexual partnered group.  I never could help myself, and I recognized that as a weakness of sorts.

Back to the spinning plates.  My parents were supposed to come visit this weekend, but, due to weather, have canceled the camping trip whose return route would lead them directly past Blacksburg.  It's rescheduled for two weeks from Sunday, when my friend Laura has planned for me to go visit her in Atlanta.  Part of me looks on this rescheduling as a blessing, because it's one more reason for me not to go see my friend.

I'll explain.  In August, she and I tried to plan a time that we could see each other.  Fall break seemed like a good time, so I said all right, if I have enough money.  The thing is, I don't have enough money.  And my tires are balding.  And a week ago my car wouldn't start, opening my eyes to the catastrophe that breaking down on the road would be.  And, because of Jeremiah, I'm suddenly more concerned about my own mortality.  And I don't like talking to Laura much anymore... Yet, in spite of several good reasons to not embark on a 6 1/2 hour drive to Atlanta, I can't bring myself to tell Laura I'm just not going.  The dynamic of our relationship has always been "do what Laura wants."  Which was fine, since I'm a generally passive and eager-to-please kind of person.

So I feel guilty that I don't want to go on this trip, because it will put me further into a debt I've finally started to repay, because my vehicle is aging quickly, because I honestly can't afford to spend the time away from my desk.  I feel guilty that part of me is glad my parents rescheduled for the 12th.  I feel guilty that I've changed so much that when Laura talks about how one of her goals is to be making six figures in X years I feel disdainful, which isn't fair...

All of this reminds me of a letter my mom wrote to me when I was six to be delivered when I turned 17 (we lost it; she found it again this year).  In it, she tells the story of a day when she was cleaning the house.  I'd asked a few times recently to take a walk on the trail in the neighborhood park, but she kept saying "later."  Then, she said, while watching me play quietly on my own as she cleaned, she realized she had her priorities all wrong.  She asked if I'd like to go for a walk, and, she says, my eyes lit up.  We walked, and she listened and enjoyed my six year-old's excitement as I chattered about everything I saw along the way.  Her advice, based on this and my continual deference to my brother's wishes, was to not be afraid to do what I want now and then.  It's good to want to make other people happy and to go along with their plans, but sometimes it's also good to have your own or to say no to an idea that you don't like that much.

It's the best letter I've gotten and reveals a tendency we have in our family to not want to inconvenience anybody, to the extent that we'll be visiting in the same town and not call to say hi, because we worry we'll just bother or interrupt (my brother, aunt Brenda, and Uncle Michael were all in Blacksburg a few weeks ago...I found out halfway through the weekend in which they visited...never got a call.  My response: to also not call and risk bothering them).

So, right now, Laura is the plate that is slipping.  I think, however, that it may be okay to let that one fall this time.  I want to see my parents; I haven't for more than an hour or so in months.  Seeing her that weekend would also mean not seeing them until...Thanksgiving?

I hope you're doing well.  Life seems to get stressful this time of year.

Love,

Kate

Side Show in the Circus

Dear Kate,

It is interesting, this thought of independence. I was mulling on it more this morning, and many of the thoughts I hatched were alluded to in your letter. I have been slow in my response, still allowing some time to heal old wounds. But I feel on the fast track back to my ol’ self, regaining some of my tough outer skin, disallowing silly remarks to stab deeper than the speaker intended. Though there are still times when I just want to curl up and cry. For example, just Tuesday some walker with her stupid perfect dog walking leash-less by her side made a comment about my herd walking. Molly went slightly ballistic in her own puppy way at the sight of this other dog, causing my other two to pull each way, trying to determine the cause of an ADD puppy’s excitement. I thought I handled my herd fine, for one who is out weighed and out muscled by the combined hounds. Individually, they are wonderful, fairly well behaved dogs…with Molly’s puppy-ness exception. But together, they feed off each other’s excitement and curiosity. It is tough, but we do well.

But then there are the days I want to shoot them to the moon.

Independence is a funny thing. I am reading the book Into the Wild about a boy going into the Alaskan wilderness to live alone for a while. The deepest form of independence, if you ask me. I sometimes think that is where I would like to be, living in pure solitude with no human contact. However, I believe it would have to be more or less a temporary fix, just a short time sans human contact to defrag from the demands of society… the same as those you highlighted in your letter. Yet I know I will never be truly free of the demands of my kids, my friends, my family, my dogs. So, I do try to find “me-mo’s”: me moments of quiet solitude to ease a troubled soul, tensions pulled tight by social demands, my thin bands of sanity unraveling. Sadly, it is not quite so poetic as a Walt Whitman journal entry, but my quite times are the best I can supply in my current situation.

Basically life is nothing but plate spinning. You sit on stage, spinning a plate on a post. Yet the crowds did not come to see you balance one plate, so you start the next saucer a spinning, then the next, then the next. How many plates can you get moving before the first one falters and you find yourself unable to rush back to keep it balanced. Our social demands are like this. Mom and dad want a visit, brother wants a party, friends want a sponge, kids want a lock-in, dogs want a walk, boyfriends want attention, ex wants a reunion, the self just wants a vacation.

We are never truly independent. There will always be a demand from someone lurking in the shadows. But I think this independence can be healthily embraced if we can find, or demand a compromise from other parties. One of my college youth made a great comment the other day: She is happy when she is single, and happier when dating someone who is compatible. Obvious remark. But the first line is where we falter. Being happy solo. I have been there. Unhealthy relationships have caused me to lose some of this independent confidence. I tend to a personality which would gladly give all and then some for those around me, and often it is to the determent of my own happiness. But I am again feeling stronger these days, and more ready to take on the world, demanding more compromise from friends, work, and dogs. You and I tend to be the same in this, we let others tramp over our strive towards independence. We have to learn to butt in on those conversations to give our own related grievances, to demand the family make the drive for a visit, or, as you have done (kudos to you)…detach from the phone for moments of uninterrupted silence. “Just say no” is not only a slogan for drug use. Independence is not just about being solo, it is about forming healthy relationships, where we can be happy in our solitude, and happier still in our balanced relationships.

Just so long as no one makes a snide comment on the erratic behavior of my puppy…Molly’s an idiot, I know this, but she’s a cute idiot!!

Vivre en Paix

Leigh

"independence" has a price

Dear Leigh,

There is definitely a danger in independence, in that if you choose to be independent in some areas then others will assume that you want to be independent in all areas, or that you are always capable of self-sustainment (monetarily, emotionally, whatever).  Your post came at a time when I'm struggling for a little independence, not because anybody is trying to hold my hand or because my parents are too involved but because I want to prove to myself that I can survive.  Luckily, so far I've gotten along all right with the knowledge that there's help if I need it.

That's where the difference is, isn't it?  I know that, if I need it, I can call mom and dad about rent or car repair or health insurance or any number of other concerns, and they're close enough that I can even run home for a weekend.  They remind me of this every few weeks.  I sometimes wonder, though, about my friends. [segue into slightly new topic]

I have good friends.  They're great people, and I like hanging out with them.  Recently, however, I've begun to tire of the demands of these friendships...one friend always wants to hang out but it's usually at a time inconvenient for me now that I go to bed by midnight and try not to drink (I'm poor, and alcohol's not all that great most of the time), one friend is upset that I'm not at my place much but instead at J's (last year when she started dating her boyfriend she disappeared from her apartment and moved into his), and another is upset that I don't have my phone by me at all times anymore (but how many times in the past years has she really listened to me?  It's always been about her problems).  

I know that my irritation is immature, and that's why most of the time I ignore it.  But every now and then I want it to be about me, and this is where I come back to your original topic.  My theory is that, because I'm a quiet and usually passive person, I've attracted friends who are not, and in so doing had to depend upon myself emotionally for most of the major events in my life.  When plans are made, I usually meet others on their side of the spectrum of compromise, and if I don't feel listened to I don't complain because I really don't care to butt in.  My journal listens to me.  Family listens to me.  So maybe, through all of this, I've given people the impression that I'm fine on my own, that I don't need listening ears, too.  Perhaps you've done something similar.

What's worse than immaturely feeling slighted or put upon by friends who really do mean well most of the time is that, now that I'm trying to do things my own way for once, I don't miss them much.  I don't miss going out on Friday nights with them, because what fun did we have, really?  I don't often miss listening to another problem and being unable to share my own.  Sometimes I'll have a day where I just want to hang out with girls, and then I do...but get pressured to go back to my old passive-listening/passive-partying self when I'm with them.  

I guess what I'm getting at, in a really long-winded way, is that being an independent person is being a contradiction, and that it is difficult to balance both sides of this contradiction.  As people, we occasionally need other people or want other people to care about our needs.  As independent people, we like to be able to function just fine on our own.  I feel as though I'm just beginning to enter the kind of independence you've had for a while, and that I'm leaving another kind of independence (or dependence on others' needing me, depending on how you look at it) behind.  Some embrace the change in me, like my parents, but others (justly) find it difficult to realize that, while I'm happy to listen when I can, I'm not their 24/7 listen-to-my-sob-story or do-what-I-want-to-do person (I don't classify you as one of these people---I'm sure you know that, but I wanted it to be said anyway).

Time to (independently) go to class.  Stay dry, and if you need a place to stay make it known that you need one.  I'm sure people want to help; they sometimes just don't realize you want them to.

Your cousin,

Kate

Be Afraid, be Very Afraid

Dear Kate,

It’s interesting how swiftly and busily a summer can go… for you and me. For me, summer’s are filled with work and trips and overnight events which leave me either away from a computer or simply not in a desire to keep up with the blogging network.

But my summers have been filled with youth trips and stress and dogs! So tonight I write you in a sense of a continuation to our last posting… the interesting issues of family dynamics and in the new ideas relating to the summer of the “traveling pant-suit.”

The doc and I are no longer together for reasons I’d rather not digest over this blog. So I am again free to my independence. However, my self-sufficiency is only a coveted situation on some aspects, like those revolving around not having to deal with other's drama. Or, when my house is a mess, it is the fault of my own hand and the twelve paws of the dogs which are my children. Yet, financially, I hurt, and emotionally, I am alone. Often, I fear the later one more than the former.

And that brings me to my complaints, though I wish not to make this sharing of ideas a column for the pity party of one, staring me. I hope that what I stress in this, our first letter after a summer hiatus, be a note of understanding behind my own traveling pant-suit of one.

One of my final trips was a personal trip to St. Louis. This trip was a supposed vacation involving only the four in my family, my brother and I, my mom and dad. All went well, though I was expected to, and gladly accepted to, act the responsible one during my brother’s shenanigans. We would go out each night, despite my weariness, and stay till the crack of dawn. My brother would party hardy with long lost friends, and I would sip beer, and enjoy the occasional conversation from mutual friendships…gained through my days as designated “get the boy home safe” driver. Our first night we arrived home at 4:30 in the a.m. with parents grumbling- to be expected. I would have rather walked in with enough time to rest and get a good sleep before awaking in the early hours to spend a supposedly event filled day with the folks. Plans had been made, and sadly adjusted to compensate for my brothers hangover. I think, and perhaps am wrong in believing so, that my parents would have been more disappointed had that been me needing the day’s recovery in the dark and cold basement. But the next night, the parental unit stayed out until the wee hours, needing the last full day of our trip for some recovery. Interesting how that works.

And don’t get me started on my feelings after I actually made it to “mass” with the parents: yes me, the “pagan” youth director… I wondered silently as my parents filed up for Eucharist, if they would have been more upset had I partaken, or if they were upset because I had made the decision not to follow their ritual… I really don't know why when I go to my parents, my "pant-suit" is stripped away and replaced with toddler pants. Like my responsible pushing thrity being is really an irresponsible pushing twenty aura.

Now the scary part, the part where I do often feel more like a Hilary, than a simple me. I’ll clarify quickly by saying, though I admire Hilary Clinton for her ideas, I shudder at her ability to stand up to opposing crowds and male-full jeers as she empowers the female race. I am not as stand up as she, though I do act in opposition to the female being viewed as the “weaker sex.”

Tonight I sat up at my bar with “Matt,” “Em,” and “Ray.” Em and Ray are married and in a sense help out Matt when needed. Matt is a great friend of mine, and has helped me in as many tough times as I hope to have helped him. There we sat, discussing this impending storm, and I hear a bartender friend offer his home, should Matt need a place to run. This bothered me to no question, and I haven’t a straight answer as to why? My home too is in a flood zone. Should a storm come this direction, I too have to leave. I am alone. I have three dogs and a cat. And though I know my “children” are part of the reason I have not had the sincere offers of evacuation sanctuary, I also somehow think I put off a beacon of such independence that friends either think I have someone to take care of me, or they think I am already taking care of myself.

I don’t know. The point of this letter revolves around a thought of the independent female. Do we put off such a light that others are afraid to offer comfort to us when we are in times of need, or do we put off a sense that we are already taken care of? In other thoughts, do we act as if we are repulsed by the idea of another’s offering of a helping hand?

I myself admit that I cannot live life alone. I also admit that I am so damn independent that I tend to fail at relationships. But in times of crisis, I still need a friend. I still need help, just as my MALE friend Matt at the bar.

Much love, but please, don’t mistake my words for bitterness…

Ta Cousine,
Leigh

Some thoughts on family dynamics

Dear Leigh,

I haven't often had the opportunity to observe you around your immediate family and to see the dynamics you talk about.  The week at the beach did show that Mike can get away with what he wants, though you (and the rest of us) are generally reduced to child status, something I'm fine dealing with because my brother is [usually] treated just like I am.  A theory--apart from J's that they expect more from you because you are not the one who typically caused problems--that I have is that maybe it's just gender.  

I say this because I've noticed that, although both Derek AND Daniel are younger than I am, I am still the 'baby' of the family.  It all lies in my girl-ness--a couple of years ago, when I took a stroll on the beach by myself, the uncles and my dad were all back at the house on the balcony with binoculars to make sure I didn't speak to any guys.  I like that they're protective of me, and as of yet it hasn't much cramped my style, but I see how it would if my brother were to bring a girlfriend to the beach and they were allowed to stay in the same room while J and I were forced to sleep apart.  There are double standards; on the same trip two years ago my dad encouraged my brother to initiate conversation with some bikini-clad girls floating in the ocean.  I wonder if their uncles were watching through binoculars...

So there's an idea.  I'm sorry the trip was a disappointment...it seemed like a number of people and factors were working against your enjoying it.  If it helps, my mom and I both think Doc seems like a good guy and were saddened that tensions prevented us from getting to know him a bit more.  My mom got the benefit of a small car trip with him; I still don't know much about him, but I figure if you like him then he must be a pretty cool guy, especially away from the pressure of a girlfriend's family and no medication.

As for the grass's being greener on the other side, I suppose at the moment my grass may seem a bit more lush, but yours is looking pretty good, too.  I have to say that I'm envious of the life you've built for yourself and of the independence you have.  Everything I do follows a set path, and I more or less always do what is expected.  I rely heavily on my parents for help, I'm horribly whiny about having a job, it's taken me months to figure out that I probably can't manage taking care of a cat for at least another year, I can't cook very much or well and don't have a strong desire to, and I've chosen to live in the same place for six years because it is a) familiar and b) close to my parents.  My choices are safe, and though I think a lot of it is my personality I know that some is because of the way I was raised...pampered, maybe slightly spoiled...  I'd be tickled if you went to culinary school, just because it's something I'd never do but which seems exciting and full of possibilities to do something unique.

I don't know if any of this helps at all, but I thought I'd give you some of my thoughts.

All the best, dear cousin.

Love,

Kate

Disappointment

Dear Kate,

I chose not to call my dad on father’s day. Not until late evening. Feelings of guilt hit home following two text messages from my dad and a phone call from each parent. I finally called, gave cordial father’s day blessings, then went on my way.

The fact is, I still feel terribly battered from my week. And I do not yet see remedy in sight. I do not feel like a pushing 30 around the family, rather, I feel reduced to an inexperienced teenager. And it still pains me to the point of belligerent cursing to think and realize and experience the way my father puts my brother on such a *&#$*% silver platter. J commented that perhaps my dad expects “more” from me?! What more can I offer? I thought I was relatively successful. Happy, strong, educated. Yet, that one particular evening, I am being yelled at by both parents to “go to bed, this is not the party house, you have until 10:30.” (dost I hear tones of a curfew??!!??) Enter…Michael and the song runs over a key change: “You guys can hang out, just keep it quiet.” The little shit.

I don’t understand why my behavior (drinking?) is suddenly an issue. I do not drink to the level of both my brother AND my dad. I am somehow always caught with a beverage in hand, yet often it is the same beverage I was "caught" holding the hour before...I am a slow drinker (ask John, he joked me about it!!). Yet, I recall the "boy Welch who can do no wrong" being idiotically drunk, sitting in the driveway in a dazed stupor Wednesday night - big sister literally dragging him to bed and forcing water down his throat. Then there was my own dad’s embarrassingly boisterous behavior during dinner the following evening. And while I proudly wear the "Family Drunk" hat, still my guitar gently weeps. I felt, and still feel, like such a failure.

Then there is the doc: an impulsive light weight, who has been through much trauma in his life. He is on medication. Unfortunately, he chose not to take his medication during the week…and I suffered for his anxiety prone, obsessive compulsive, manic behavior. I killed me to see the looks and snickers occurring behind his back. It killed me to see the loss of respect in my parent’s eyes.

I feel stifled by my family; in a complete place of chaos with the doc; in a heavy strain of loss. Perhaps I expect too much from my family. Surely my own unit of four can do nothing better than fight and bicker and turn backs. I do not feel the bonds of support and encouragement. And it is not all because of the doc. It is in conjunction with my cooking, with my writing, with my music…not all great, but rather than supported, it is waved off like a seven year old's stick figure doodle.

Enough.

To your letter: you and J have a very special relationship, much different that your relationship with your dad. Your dad is proud of you. You know it very well. I don’t believe for one minute that he is hurt or offended that it took J to widen your eyes to the amazing array of joys and talents you share with your family. The fact is, you already knew of the hobbies and talents shared within your family circle (thanks to the COMBINED efforts of your parents). Often it does take an outside force to help expand and strengthen that interest. It also makes those joys more unique to you and J. Do you think for one minute that grandpa and grandma were disappointed with your mother for not following exactly to their likes? Rather, combined with your dad, those joys and interests were expanded and crafted to the new little family unit your mom was creating.

So there you are. You dad is amazing. You are amazing. You have an amazing partner. Together you can discover music and art in new and exciting ways you may have never known if left to your own devices.
I hope this helps, though somehow I don't feel like I adequately answered your letter.

Peace,
Leigh

PS
The car ride home was surprisingly comfortable. I was able to sleep most the way….it really is amazing the amount of room in that car. I was content in the back, with my herd of children, lost in thought over the revelations and disappointments of the week.

I envy what you have with your family. I suppose the grass is always greener...

I think too much sometimes

Dear Leigh,

I'm experiencing this strange sort of guilt in the midst of my post-beach pre-work ennui.

As you may or may not be aware, this past Sunday was father's day, and I did about as much as I usually do for my dad, which is to say I gave him a hug and awkwardly told him how much I enjoyed spending time with him this year.  Following this slightly uncomfortable exchange (you know those hugs where you're not sure where to put your arms?), I began analyzing the relationship I have with my dad, and came to some interesting conclusions.

Eight hours in the car (I know you had much longer!) gave me time to figure out why I feel so strange saying happy father's day to my dad, particularly this year.  It's because, though we are similar in so many ways, we are different in ways so fundamental that it makes it difficult for either of us to really talk.  What worries me might worry him, but his way of trying to make me feel better usually makes me even more stressed.   What interests him is...almost everything, but though our interests overlap in several areas, his intensity makes me feel inadequate and unable to connect because of how seriously he takes his hobbies.

So where does the guilt come in, you ask.  The guilt comes from the fact that I've introduced somebody into our lives who has interests in common with both me and my dad, and that this somebody (J) is much better at sharing music and art etc with me than my dad ever was, though he tried year after year after year.  Where I was stubborn and borderline brattish with my dad, I'm relatively patient and...I don't want to say yielding, but I'm going to...yielding with J.  I feel guilty that I'm allowing myself to share with J what I half-heartedly tried to share with my dad, and I feel guilty that it took until now for me to gladly and willingly cooperate with my dad in the area of music, that it took until now for me to listen.  

I just hope that Dad doesn't feel in some way that he's failed, or in any way annoyed that it took somebody else to ameliorate the tension I used to feel in attempting to be how my dad wanted me to be.  The way I look at it is that J facilitates my relationship with my Dad, and that that's a good thing.  I don't want Dad to resent it, that's all.

Does that make sense?  I don't even know.

Love,

Kate

P.S.- I was glad to hear you made it safely back to Florida...I imagine it was an uncomfortable trip with such a large crowd in your car.

Tides of early (early) adulthood

Dear Leigh,

I can hardly express how excited I am about next week at the beach, even if I'm not going to be there the whole time.  I'm skipping a couple days so that J can come with me...which, for me, is worth it because I so want him to meet the family and vice versa.  

Our family really is a solid place in a life full of change and uncertainty.  I haven't always felt so blessed, but as I strike off on my own this fall (sort of), knowing that I have not only my parents and brother but our whole family supporting me makes it easier to believe that I will succeed, and makes the thought of failure more bearable.  If I should come upon hard times, you'll all still be there the same as ever, and for that I feel incredibly lucky.

Drama has turned its eye away from me and J, as well, and I'm enjoying the comfort of happily living with him, coming home to quesadillas after work, hanging out at Subway while he closes up for the night, and organizing my new apartment with the two people in mind rather than only myself.  All of this (and more) is why I want to bring him to the beach.  I want to integrate him into that solidity and support that is our family, because he's already taken up that role away from the family.

Sometimes I still have trouble believing how well everything is going.  Our only concern is money, and it's not a huge problem.  I have enough for now, and will have plenty in fall--enough to (I hope) spare J a thirty-hour work week plus classes, if he'll let me.

I was talking to my roommate yesterday, and we started discussing the way relationships morph as you get older, going from the everyone-dates-everyone-else of high school to the idealism of early college to learning from all of that and choosing something that fits, that takes work, but is worth it all.  There is a huge difference, growth-wise, between an 18 year-old and a 22 year-old...at least for us...and I'm so glad of that.  Sometimes, though, I wish I could've skipped all the crap in between...

Happy Friday, O cousin of mine.

Sincerely,

Kate

P.S. I really need to start paying attention to current events.  This Blacksburg bubble has a thick membrane.

These times

Dear Kate,

It's interesting how life progresses. The kids ebb and flow like the constant changing tides on our gulf beaches...it is ridiculous sometimes. Once one issue resolves, another evolves. But luckily it is turning the eyes of drama away from my life...finally. Side note - the kids ask: are you and doc dating? have you and doc kissed? why do you deny the dating when you guys are always eating dinner together? I laugh and simply jokingly avoid these questions from their young and nosey minds. I wish to just remind them that relationships post marriage and in the decade of the 30 -something’s look quite different than the teenage dating circles witnessed daily. They are like a "Friends" episode where everyone has dated everyone else within the circle...without serious repercussions to the group dynamics. It's interesting.

I come to mind in all this how great our vacation will be next week. The acts and scenes of our own family revolutions somehow feel not so wearing, but rather strengthening. I know the doc will definitely benefit from the love our small family circle seems to radiate every time we gather! Yea, I sound mushy. But it is a vacation on so many levels for benefit the soul. And for this Saturday afternoon, I am well ready and counting down the hours.

There is so much going on the world these days: Good, Bad, Frustrating, Exciting. We have Obama's candidacy, we have Bush's not soon enough departure, we have war, we have supporters, we have rioters, we have Olympics, we have earthquakes, we have music, we have education. In the eyes of these weeks of graduations we see new groups stepping into the working world, while the younger generations are stepping into the world of higher education. I am excited for our future, while worried and stressed for our present. I feel nostalgia for a time I never even experienced, and hope for a time when I can “now” the "Good ol' days."

These times we live in are so filled with change, with hurt, with hope. It is overwhelming sometimes. It is another reason I look forward to a small week spent with family, seemingly away from reality. We really are lucky for what we have with our aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers... I am proud to be a member of this clan. It is comforting especially in our time where families are so easily split and faced with crisis. Our unit may live many miles from one another, yet we are still so close. For that I am well pleased.

You are absolutely right in your thoughts with relationships. Sometimes we do have to take that selfish perspective and expect or hope that others will come to see and accept OUR happiness. If we, as overly obsessive people pleasers, ruin a great personal relationship to save face with others whose disapproval seep with jealousy, then we really loose. I think, and agree, that true friendship will embrace that happiness where ever it appears. In our world today, we need those rays of light and hope. Our family is definitely one that embraces.

And it is truly an amazing feeling.

Peace, ma cousine

Leigh

Sheepish because of her tardy response, yet eager to share...

Dear Leigh,

I'm sorry that it's been two posts since a response from me.  Between graduating, visiting home, and giving my friend Laura the time with me that she deserves, I haven't been too close to my computer too often.

I can relate to the feeling of sort of...not being allowed to enjoy happiness newly found.  For the first couple months with J, I thought the whole world was golden, turning just to make us happy.  It certainly seemed that way, and everyone around us seemed to be just as happy with our relationship as we were.  Once I started hearing complaints, however, our joy felt tainted...

It hurts to feel as though others don't see something that makes you happy as the wonderful thing that you know it is.   It's hard to be more discreet with a relationship that just seems to fit and makes you want to announce to everyone how happy you are, and it's definitely difficult to move forward when former relationships (or non-relationships, as in my case), insist on stepping on the back of your shoes.

I've decided that, in time, my friends will come to appreciate this contentment I've found with another after so many unfortunate others and realize that, if maybe they don't see me as much or see me as much by myself, it's worth it because of how happy I am.  This is kind of a selfish line of thinking, on my part, but I like to believe that, if something came along that gave one of my close friends great joy at the cost of spending some time with me, I'd be able to welcome that thing (whether it's a person or job or hobby) because of its value to my friend.

My point in all of that talking about me is to come back to you and say that once the kids are used to the idea of you and your doctor and once your employer sees that the relationship is not something casual or sinful but something that brings you joy, they'll calm down and you can openly enjoy the happiness you deserve.  As for the marine...that's a wrench that will undoubtedly be difficult to handle, but time is an amazing healer...

Looking forward to the beach, we can both take comfort in the fact that we have a great family that seems to be only happy if we've found something or someone that makes us happy.  My parents think J is great, and you said your parents and brother like your doctor.  I can't help but feel that they'll integrate well with the rest of the family, and that there you can relax and just enjoy sharing the doctor with everyone, away from rumors and suggested discretion.

Much love and compassion...

Sincerely,

Kate

Rain on my Parade

Dear Kate

I am extremely frustrated. I wrote recently about the joy in my life and how it can completely deter inspiration for writing. It feels now, in a sense, kind of a joke because here I sit, upset and frustrated, feeling almost hypocritical to my own thoughts posted just days ago.

I returned from a great respite trip to the mountains. The Smokie’s which surround Ashville have such an intoxicating, contagious tranquility, soothing my anxious spirit. I returned home to an amazing embrace from a wonderful man; home to tails wagging so ferociously that butt’s were hardly able to contain the unbound joy of a “herd” welcoming me home. Smiles radiated from all direction. I never felt so good coming home.

Then, a few days pass…barely. I feel I’ve been home much longer than the few actual days. Last night I was awake, feeling wretched, sleep not willing to join me on the couch, instead misery keeping company. It sucked.

Imagine the face of a child, pure in elation over the extravagant mud pie he lovingly made for his mother, only to have that joy obliterated because mom cannot see past the mud stains on clean trousers? This is certainly hypothetical, but really, that is how I feel suddenly. Like here I am, full of joy from my return, only to have the reality of life smite me like a judge criticizing a piece one has worked hard preparing and performing.

The kids continue their ugly gossip and rumor spreading. When they speak of other youth, their words are poison, their nonchalant attitude breaking my heart. And some still rumble about my new relationship…I ran into a kid while the doc and I were grocery shopping, and have now been told by the “boss” to be “discreet” with my relationship. Um. Since when was grocery shopping a sign that I am living a life of “sin”? That’s it I suppose, no more public outings. Then of course, there is the marine. It kills me the anger in his spirit. Yet I am certainly not strong enough to stay away from him. I hurt for his hurt.

I guess am that sensitive.
Why must there be so much pain, sadness, anger, hostility, vengeance and misery in the world? Then the news opens with reports of China and Burma. It kills me, it really does. Cuz, last night I sat on my couch at two in the morning with tears rolling down my face. I believe it hurts more when your spirit wants to shine out joy, but the world, both close at hand, and oceans away, insists on smudging out that glow with gloom.
It really kills me.

Broccoli

Dear Kate,

I have written before about one of my greatest role models, Anne Lamott, and her book "Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life." I highly recommend it to your reading list. I have my book marked and dogeared to a point beyond recognition.

Anyway, one chapter is titled, "Broccoli." Opening this chapter, Lamott quotes Mel Brooks: "Listen to your broccoli, and your broccoli will tell you how to eat it." Taken one way you may initially think I am telling you to listen to your pop and he will tell you how to write your story. No. I am saying listen to your story and it's characters will tell you how they wish to interact. This is YOUR story. Sure it is based upon your dad's life, but this is still your story.

Another friend once told me that all fiction is based heavily on fact. This part is obvious. You need the information from your dad to make your story believable...to make your story real. We all have read books before where the author failed in the research department, resulting in the story becoming unbelievable. (Why is it we want to believe something meant to be fiction??)

There is a point here...and it is found in the next chapter: "Radio Station: KFKD" that is, K-Fucked: "the single greatest obstacle to listening to your broccoli that exists for writers." Basically it is the voices inside and outside of your brain telling you everything that is wrong with your writing. In one corner, there is a small voice is praising your work. But the other three corners house loud, differing, opinionated voices telling you everything that sucks, what needs to change, what needs removal...three voices telling you what a terrible writer you truly are. And the problem: WE LISTEN TO THOSE VOICES!!!

There really is a point here somewhere. The point: These are your writings. You need to compose YOUR own symphony of words. Ask your dad for some details, but do not tell him the reasoning for your questioning. There is nothing wrong with wanting to sit and listen to stories. You can, should you decide, joke him and tell him you are writing a book based upon his childhood. I used this line for the Doc when we first met, "So, tell me about yourself for I need inspiration for this new book I am planning to write."

Then, write your novella. Upon completion, one of two things can then happen: A. show your dad POST PUBLICATION, or, B. as my dear friend Pablo would suggest, don't publish until the person your character is based upon has passed.

I would personally choose number one. If your dad objects to your story, tell him to go write his own book. Your current plans do not involve ghost writing his personal autobiography.

So, in seriousness, I think I really am going to write that book "Doc in Paperback."
Good luck, ma cousine.

What to do, what to do...

Dear Leigh,

Once again, you're right.  I can't really judge, and better to keep checking in on him than to give up trying in a fit of passive-aggressiveness.  That helps nobody, and, besides, maybe one day soon we'll just start talking like you and Mike did.  One can only hope.

In that vein, a siblings outing at the beach is a good idea.  We can do some cousinly bonding and leave the significant others with the family (which actually doesn't make me at all nervous).  

Random:  So I'm writing this story based on the stories my dad likes to tell about his childhood.  His family lived in Laos and Iran, so there are some interesting settings and situations.  My issue is this:  Since they're stories based on my dad's life, should I be writing them? Shouldn't he be writing them?  My answer to myself is that I'm writing them for  him, but that's not entirely true...because if that were the case, I'd be trying to keep them consistent with the details he gave. Instead, I've taken the situations and some characters and completely fabricated the way things pan out.  It wouldn't be much of an issue except that I need some information about where he lived in Laos and what the socio-economic climate was like at the time.  I'll have to call and explain the premise of my story...I'm worried that a) he'll be annoyed or that b) he'll want me to change what I've written so that it matches exactly what really happened.  Neither would make me happy.

I could just work on a different story, but I've never had so much fun with one as I'm having with this adaptation of episodes from my dad's life...

Oh well.

Sincerely,

Kate

Family

Dear Kate,

I’m glad to hear your day went well. Not celebratory, but not depressing either…a nice mediocre kind of day. I think those are my favorite: days where you don’t need to think about too much heavy stuff and really have no energy for joyous stuff. And two: the fact of that anniversary being not on the front of your brain is probably a benefit. Too often we get so wrapped up in the melancholy that we lose sight of the good… like two month anniversaries with our new found beaus.

But a new stress evolves from this: family reactions and relations. I like to think my brother and I are very close. I have seen interactions between other sets of siblings, and realize that our own relationship still lacks. We do not offer the “I love you’s” with frequency, and hugs involve too much touch. Do I believe we have a poor relationship? Naw.

Let me tell you briefly about little brother. After Matt’s death, we were pretty much separated. Daddy and Michael moved to St. Louis, mom hung out behind with me until I graduated high school. Mike had his life up north, I had mine down south. I got married, Michael got married. Even though he lived with me portions of that timeframe, I still never really felt much closeness with him. I actually felt closer with his wife.

So, Michael got divorced. I got divorced. I resented him for his, as I think he resented me for mine.

Then, I am not sure how it happened. One day we started talking. One day we started forming this bond. One day we became more than just a brother and sister in name, but in relationship. It was weird. Evolving from this was the code: Family First. I helped him move to Mobile, I supported his move to Crestview. I was and still am there for him when he has girl trouble. I would still stand up to anyone who crossed my brother for malice. In the same way I trust he would do for me.

Yet we are not perfect. We don’t always see eye to eye, and his “Pity Party’s of One” grow old really quick. Though if I ever discovered he were in town without my knowing, I would be pissed. If I sent him a gift, I think I would expect an expression of thanks… it is simply good form. When crisis happens, I would demand my brother’s attention for good will, rather than a job perk.

So I guess I am slightly upset with your brother and his hiatus, because I feel the same as you when my brother pulls that crap.

But I am also missing his side of the story, therefore do not feel justified to pass judgment. I do not think you are overlooking this relationship gap. I think you two need to find a bridge to cover that space, forming a familial relationship you need. Some simple you and John time. Perhaps express to him some of your transgressions without getting all sappy dappy. Call to check on him more often, without being obsessive. Open up lines of communication… I think he will respond. He may think awkwardness at first, but I believe he will come to his senses.

Perhaps during beach week, we can do a sibling outing, leaving the beau’s at home with the rest of the family… scary, but I’m strangely comfortable with it.

One year out

Dear Leigh,

It's odd.  When I first started reading your post, I thought that you were talking about mine and Jeremiah's two-month, which was last Friday.  I thought, "How does she know?  I didn't think I mentioned it," but then as I read on I realized...you're referring to the 16th.  It's a little embarrassing to me that it's not absolutely at the forefront of my mind.  At the front, no doubt, but not the very front...

-----------------

4/16 

Dear Leigh, 

So far I've spent the day doing what you mentioned.  I've been remembering, but also cherishing the relationships I have and, in particular, the new relationship I have with J.  We went to campus for a bit to retrace our steps, walk where we walked a year ago, and listen to President Steger talk.  It's been somber, but not in a crippling way.  I relived last year for a bit and got my catharsis in, then we went downtown to get coffee and talk about mundane things, plans for the future, etc.  It's been nice to just take a day to do whatever I need...whether it's walking around campus and placing myself directly in the center of my memory of what happened last year or walking a couple miles around downtown and back to my apartment.

I've even gotten a chance to talk to my mom a little bit, though my parents are across the Atlantic and unable to call.  She's adapted to instant messaging for a few weeks (their cruise ship has an internet cafe).  Not a horrible day.  By no means happy, but thoughtful and not lonely or desperate in any way...

Except one.  The speeches on the drillfield made me tear up, of course, and I've felt an inexplicable fatigue and weight walking around campus and back to the apartment, but what affected me most (in a negative way) was getting on facebook and seeing my brother's status, which read "heading to blacksburg for the night."

...

Could've mentioned something to me about it.  But he didn't...and I'm trying not to feel resentful, just like I tried not to feel resentful last year when he didn't answer my texts and only called me the morning of the 18th to ask if I or one of my friends would do an interview.  At 8:30 in the morning.  And just like I tried not to feel resentful after getting no response to my "happy birthday" message a couple days ago, and no message about his birthday present (which I know aren't supposed to be given with the expectation of thanks, but still).  I'm focusing on loving all of the relationships I have, and in doing so I find something meaningful in each until I start thinking about my brother, and then I wonder why...I can't build anything there, make any headway, feel at all like he cares that I'm his sister (except in the most minimal sense).

Maybe there's something I'm not seeing.  Thoughts?

Sincerely,

Kate

Anniversaries

Dear Kate,

It’s interesting how an anniversary can affect our structure of life. When we begin new relationships, it is the gag cutesy little “it’s our one week anniversary…our six month…” ect. But that one year mark is always a celebration, regardless of dating or marital status. It’s the blissful, “we made it this far, we must really love each other, let’s celebrate with dinner and dancing” kind of moment.

But the one year anniversary’s of the devastating kind…there is no thought of getting dressed up to go party. At most, it may facilitate a want of donning a pair of jeans and an old hoodie, finding the local hole in the wall, and drinking away pain associated with the memory. We all have those dates. Sometimes the dates are personal, like the anniversary of my brother’s death. I still don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. Then there are the grander scale tragedies, like you and the survivors at Virginia Tech. I cannot imagine that numb feeling you must be having thinking of the date, realizing you should commemorate in some way, but how?

You (hypothetically speaking, not you personally) may think, “Should we celebrate life?” No, that somehow does not seem quite fair. “Should we continue to mourn those who have suffered?” No, those dwellings of pain can be unhealthy. We have to move on, step forward. Find that comfortable balance between joy and grief. The balance of melancholy bliss leading us introspectively into the ideas of the surrounding world. We open our eyes towards both the present and the “great” beyond, whose existence we love to question.

While I was still living in Panama City, I used to spend Matt’s anniversary at the cemetery. I started a tradition which I’ve had to modify since moving away. I used to go to the grave site and sit on the little bench mom and dad had placed there. I would light two cigarettes, place one by the marker, and smoke the other. I don’t know why my memories of my brother smoking felt cool, but I smoked to be like him. Over time, the trend has changed. I no longer sit at the site on the first of August, I no longer “smoke” with my brother. And sadly, sometimes I feel worse for not practicing those rituals. It is like I am forgetting my brother’s importance in my life.
But I’m not. I’m just growing. And I think perhaps I will find a new tradition this coming August, to honor my brother’s life, and to mourn his passing.

What does this have to do with you? I hope you hear me advising you to find that comfort zone where you can celebrate the lives of those around you at Tech while still mourning those who have gone on. I hope you hear me saying that this commemoration is something YOU must create. We can send ourselves into an unhealthy territory when we get so wrapped up in what the media elects to put on display before our eyes and ears. I worry about the misconstrued perspectives we gain when we allow others to mediate our own emotions.

Cousine, do what feels right for you. Find your own tradition where you can comfortably mourn the losses that happened so close to you, yet still thanking whomever you choose to thank that there are those around still to continue pushing forward in life, accomplishing goals and setting standards for which future generations can aspire.

Life in this bubble

Dear Leigh,

Crazy.

I live in a bubble, so I hadn't heard of VT's plan to offer families and victims money. The idea is highly disturbing to me, because it suggests that a) both parties feel that money can somehow make the grief less or that b) the school is being blamed for what was a lamentable tragedy but not really the sole fault of any one person or institution.

It's especially bothersome considering the one year mark is coming up in a few weeks and, I feel, one of the last things we should be doing is placing/accepting blame or thinking that somehow reparations or deep and labyrinthine investigation will erase the basic grief.

The whole idea makes me a little squeamish. I can't say for sure, of course, but if I were in your place the offer Stew made would make me feel very strange, almost as though I'd benefit if he were lost in the line of duty. The money would inevitably be stained, and I wouldn't be able to keep it. Charity would be the only way to go.

I know that what Tech is offering is partly to help with medical bills and so forth, but something about it still doesn't feel quite right. It would seem similarly stained; the thought of putting a number on exactly how much the loss of a loved one is worth is repulsive.

Going back to the whole Kate-lives-in-a-bubble thing: I worry about the media this year. Articles and issues relating to the 16th have, I gather, been fairly consistent over the past year and experienced a spike after the Southern Illinois incident, so I expect a similar village of news vans to be camped out by our alumni center this year. I fear them more now, though, because I've had time to wonder and realize that I have almost no idea how I'm going to react to it all. Last year we sat numbly watching the news for hours, switching from program to program hoping there'd be more information (but what more could we really know?), then finally turning on something completely unrelated. It wasn't real enough yet, for me, to react strongly in a conscious way. This time...I don't know.

Part of me wants them to leave us alone (what business is it of anyone else's anyway?), and part of me wants them here so that I can feel as much as possible what it was like last time. Very strange. And mom and dad will be so far away...

Blood Money

Dear Kate,

Yesterday on NPR I heard about Virginia Tech proposing to offer victims of last year’s horrific events $100,000 so as not to sue the school. I was not at first sure if what I heard was correct, as the information floored me terribly. When I got to work, I looked up the New York Times website to confirm the information. And sure enough, there it was: Virginia Tech Seeks to Avoid Lawsuits. I was instantly reminded of the time Stew once told me that, in the event he would be called to serve in Iraq, and should anything (deathly) happen to him while he was serving, I would be compensated $250,000 as aid in my grief. The idea sickened me. I’m sorry, but science is not yet advanced enough to return life to a loved one for any sum of cash. I was, and am still, really bothered by this offer.

Now, in the defense of the military, I understand that they are trying to help in some form or fashion for the horrific loss of our beloved due to their "heroic duty." But I really still feel almost insulted that a governmental branch can buy off my remorse. "In their defense" ... the money, as I was told by Stew, was to help pay for funeral arrangements and other expenses. (Though a quarter of a million makes for an awfully extravagant funeral.)

Similarly, the news yesterday made note that the money offered would be to help with medical and counseling costs for those grieving loved ones lost at Virginia Tech . I suppose I can begin to respect and understand this attempt at generosity. But to tell me I am going to be offered this sum to prevent my legal actions against the armed forces or educational institute just seems ludicrous. I don’t get it. Maybe I overreact.

As you know, Stew and I are no longer maritally involved. However, prior to his deployment last August, he informed me that he had still wanted to leave a portion of his blood money to me in the event of his demise.

My response: I would have to return it all to support the many wounded vets, as they need and deserve that money more than I.

Kate, I don't understand our world sometimes. I feel like it revolves too much over money rather than feelings. Riches equaling happiness? I cannot say that is a beat with which I can fall into step. Cousine, we live in a time of economic hardship. We live in a time of war. We live in a time of senseless killings both in our own country as well as regions halfway around the world.

We also live in a time where someone else must take the blame for any transgressions we must suffer. And sadly, we live in a time where we can bribe others to point fingers in different directions.


Finally, it makes me sad to hear of atrocious amounts of cash being offered to those so they will keep quiet and continue living their lives as if nothing has happened - especially when there are so many suffering, and we insist on turning blind eyes toward them.

It is like placing salt on a wound wanting to heal.

Paix, ma cousine,

Leigh