I just got a call from Kansas City. My brother, Steve, known here as tr ig, passed away this afternoon from a heart attack. He will be missed greatly by all who knew him, including Jenny, his son Eli, and myself.

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Comment by nanatehay on August 4, 2017 at 5:25pm

Hi Anna, hi Monkey. I'm on Southwest flight 1347, lifting off in a few minutes for Oakland, where Tildy will be leaping into my arms more frenziedly than a Tasmanian devil by 11pm Pacific time.

Storms... weather... taking a break from the human hamster wheel grind by going out on the land to places where remnants of nature can still be found... things experienced that way seem more real and more meaningful than stuff experienced in the city. I need to find some place wild and remote where I can just sit and watch the sky for a few days.

Comment by Safe Bet's Amy on August 4, 2017 at 5:36pm

Fly safe, Nana.

Well, take the plane, but tell them to fly safely.

Comment by greenheron on August 4, 2017 at 7:23pm

nana! I’ve wondered how you are. What a time you must have had, are having. You’ve been missed. 

Art and nature, two good coping tools. Soft furry animals, those too.

Comment by koshersalaami on August 4, 2017 at 7:42pm

Glad to hear from you. Take care of yourself. How wiseass are the flight attendants?

Comment by greenheron on August 5, 2017 at 7:39am

I don't know if you're a poetry fan. I am, but hope you won't hold that against me if you're not.

I'll leave you this poem by Mary Oliver, a poet who writes mostly about nature, the beauty and terror of it. She gets life the way people who spend a lot of time in nature do. I read it at my mother's memorial service and now it's indelibly connected with my mother. I read it again on the anniversary of her death every June.

btw, Blackwater Woods is a real place where you can go wander, in Provincetown. Oliver wrote this poem about the passing of her wife.  

In Blackwater Woods

Mary Oliver

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies

into pillars

 

of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

 

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

 

of the ponds,

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

 

nameless now.

Every year

everything

I have ever learned

 

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

 

is salvation,

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

To live in this world

 

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

 

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it

go,

to let it go.

Comment by greenheron on August 5, 2017 at 7:44am

Here's one of mine, called Crossing.

Comment by Robert Starkey on August 11, 2017 at 10:10pm

So sorry Nana! 

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