The Graduation Picture.

 
It is a quiet Sunday afternoon, cloudy, warm, very pleasant really for a mid May Sunday afternoon.
Michael is outside transferring the young sunflower plants from our green house into the soil off to the deck. He came up with the idea last summer, and decided to repeat it, as it is really fun to have the tall sunflowers right off the deck where we eat so much on summer nights. Nicholas is working on an essay for his creative writing class, and as my feet are tired from working all  day cleaning house until midnight yesterday, I am writing after our big Sunday brunch. I keep thinking of the emotional surprise I got when I saw a picture on Facebook of my 57 year old brother Bart in graduation gowns at SMU on Saturday, apparently getting a second master's degree in anthropology. I only saw it because his 23 year old daughter, Grace, whom I have never met but am friends with on Facebook, posted several pictures she took of her Dad. It was so strange to see a close shot of his face after not having seen him in person in 17 years. He was not quite 40 the last time I saw him at Ludwina's funeral in Georgia in April of 1998. The picture I was looking at now showed him thin, with a slight smile that spoke more of sadness than the joy one would associate with such an impressive graduation. It brought to mind my father's face the last 10 years of his life, a face that smiled readily, but always with hesitation, burdened by a heavy financial responsibility and a bitter marriage, and the worry about Ludwina's bi - polar illness. It was really like looking into the face of a stranger, and feeling an unsettling familiarity as I recognized the features and the shadow and presence of my father. I sent a friend request to Bart last year, which he ignored. I sent a congratulatory comment to the picture my niece so proudly was displaying of her father, which made her happy. It remains odd to have only one sibling left in this huge country and not to have any contact with him, by his choice. Perhaps when I meet his daughter finally when I go back to Texas ,and see his son who is now 28 and whom I last saw when he was 11, and meet his ex - wife again, whom I last saw at Goedele's wedding in 1990, Bart will finally agree to meet perhaps for the last time in this earthly realm. It's lead heavy stuff I prefer not to think of on most days. The humming birds by the window where I write keep whirring by, mini super jets of bright colours. It is so peaceful here. Our dog Yara is snoring at my feet, just waiting for us to take a break and take her for a walk. Next Friday is my 58th Birthday. How did that happen? We will go to Red Lobster for dinner, and the next day my friend Brenda will take me out to lunch. It is my biggest hope that if Nicholas marries in the future, he marries into a gregarious, boisterous clan. Families can be a pain in the rear, I know, but to live without a larger clan is something you never really get used to. There are no weddings, baptisms, anniversaries, funerals to go to, because you have no relatives, or maybe you do, but they no longer care for you, or live on the other side of the planet. It is an odd sensation, like a missing limb, you know it is there, but you can no longer see or touch it. Michael is a loner, very independent socially, and that helps in many ways, because it shows me the advantage of being self reliant in all matters. Shouldered by his independent spirit, I have become very strong and have gained a lot of insight into the mechanics of inner freedom. It has sharpened my resolve and determination. There is an edge to the spirit in this country that is hard boiled that I continue to find difficult to deal with. There is also a kindness that can be found if you dig deep enough, and my tenacity has dug deep and hard enough to find it, in myself, in my husband, in my friends here and in Texas. A kindness that comes from the need for self reliance in a country that shows little mercy for vulnerability and sentiment. I have seen that kindness in Michael, in Diane, in Brenda, all fiercely independent people who know the price of that independence if you push it too far. My own relentless determination to belong sometimes softens the hard edge of their instinct to survive, to move on, one foot in front of the other, no matter the cost to the heart and soul. It is that hardness that can leave me nauseous, or angry, or very much alone. It is also the crucible that made me determined to create my tapestries on my own, to write and publish a 300 page memoir at 57 and to accept myself with all the flaws and broken parts, focusing on what strengths and talents I possess. Michael is listening to Linda Ronstadt, one of my sister Goedele's favorite singers. So odd to hear the singer and realize Goedele has been dead now already 10 years. Life is a complete mystery, as far as I can tell. Some live to be a hundred, some die young like she did at 44, or Ludwina who was 35. I guess the idea is to live life, and not try too much to control the future, it often turns out differently anyway. I was impressed by an interview with B.B. King, the king of the blues, who died this week in Las Vegas at age 89. He was good at playing and singing the blues, and he did it with all his heart, all over the world, well into his eighties. I think if you find something you enjoy and find you are good at it, do it with all your heart for as long as you can. I am finding that out a little late in life, but grateful that I am given that chance. I am happy when I work on my tapestries, and when I write, and I enjoy sharing both, which is an added bonus, especially when it turns out other people enjoy it too. I am finding that it is giving me great inner peace, and that is certainly a gift to my heart and soul at this junction of this journey called life.