Celebrating Life
I’ve been trying to push myself to get this last blog post completed. The process of editing can be endless if you let it. It occurred to me just yesterday evening that Mother’s Day would be the ideal time to post it, because Bunny was, above all other things, the Earth Mother in my life. Although many refer to her lovingly as ‘star dust’ and that may well have been her origin, she was a spirit of the earth, the flowers, the trees, the little creatures of the forest and a progeny of Mother Nature herself. It’s not like she didn’t appreciate the universe outside our planet, but her soul, her foundation and the source of her power was here, planted in the dirt that she loved so much. You should have heard her talk about compost.
The earth was the source of her art as well, because what is pottery if not the manipulation of the very soil beneath our feet to create beauty and usefulness?
So this blog entry is sent in the high spirit of motherhood and as an appreciation for that special calling. It’s to Bunny, if she’s still paying attention to us hopelessly myopic mortal souls, and the wonderful mothers of our grandchildren, who all try the best that they can to make the world a better place through their children; like Bunny did.
It’s a little less of a story than a chronicle, but I wanted to get the actual events of the party down, because they’re just so incredible in their own right. And the story lends itself to a philosophical rambling at the end in a very natural way. No recipes this time, though, at least not for food.
- greg
Sometimes the build up to and the anticipation of an occasion is better than the event itself. This was not the case for Bunny's celebration. Because while the prelude was wonderful in its own rite, the event itself was well beyond what one could have imagined it to be.
On Friday, all of the DIL's (Tara, Larisa, Katie and Amanda (she’s almost)) came over with all of our sons to get the house ready for the party. Larisa and Amanda brought the plants and flowers and the crew descended on Bunny's mountain to plant, and plant they did. Larisa had also picked and brought the flowers for the flower boxes on the porch rails and four hanging flower pots to hang from the eaves. The hills that Bunny made from the digging of the pond became covered with flowers and flowering plants to make a marvelous cover. The crew studded the hills in a very natural, random manner, then covered the ground beneath with mulch to dress everything up. Purples and whites, with pink and white astilbes yet to bloom put there to complement the other astilbes already planted, the red Japanese maple and the elderberry bush. Two new rhododendrons on either side of the source of the stream gave it too, a more settled and much less contrived look.
In the house, the purchasing of the supplies had been delegated and errands were run. Each one of the group had their own responsibilities, as decided by the DIL contingent. It was heartwarming to see all of these women working together in such coordinated harmony. I expect it from my sons. I'd made a list (it's what I do, I'm sure that you've guessed that I'm a control freak) and the items were being completed, one by one.
They were all buzzing around the house like little bees, cleaning, preparing, organizing and bringing the supplies that we’d need. Other than being married to our sons for the time that they have been, they have no relation to or experience with each other, yet they work together with a cooperative spirit that hard to even imagine. It's a real tribute to Bunny that they have that sort of connection; she really built the foundation for that sort of thing. I took all of Friday off, and I was glad that I did so that I could be there to watch all that happening.
Saturday came, and I spent the better part of the morning by myself. This was not bad, because most of the hard work had been done on the day before, and I puttered around getting the few things done as I could. I even went down into the basement where Bunny's studio was. I got all of the leftover pottery out from where it had been tucked away and arranged it to be easy to see so that I could give some of it away to those that were close to her, and did some cleaning. This was not quite as hard as I expected; being in her studio, putting her tools and artist effects away; taking charge of her space. Of course, actually taking the equipment out of there, either after being sold or to storage, will be an entirely different matter.
Tristan showed up with the tents, and then went to get the chairs and tables that we were borrowing for the event. The others showed up about 1:00 and they set up the tents and the chairs in the yard with the 10 X 20 tent set up as the dining tent. I was scurrying around by then, and was quite busy until about 2:30, when I went in to change clothes and get ready
Bun's brother Pat, his wife Elaine, sister Jerri and significant other, Keith, had come early to the house. Our old friends Mark and Lenora from the mountains of Virginia came in the late morning, too. All of them had made it into town the evening before, and we'd had some quality time to talk already. I spent some of my time Saturday morning remembering and laughing with them and Jerri's daughter Kryssie, who was in that day from St Louis, and who reminds me so much of younger Bunny that it's almost unsettling. It’s those southern mannerisms and the way that she talks.
People started arriving pretty much right on time (I've never had a party where that happened before), and they just kept coming and coming. I had to dash to park my car out in the field to let the newcomers know to park there because by 3:15 the party goers had already lined up their cars along half of one side of the driveway (which is more cars than it might seem because our driveway is about 200 feet long). By the time that I next looked out, shortly after coming in from parking my car, the line in the field (perpendicular to rather than parallel with the driveway) was approaching the very front yard.
Almost everyone wore a tie dyed something, and they came with all types. Long sleeved, short sleeved, tops, homemade, designer, concert shirts, radio station promo designs, tie dyed summer dresses and scarves; a real explosion of color. We had filled the pond and set the little stream that Bunny and I had made on her mountain running, with its cool splashing and gurgling. The back yard looked incredible, lush and verdant like only a clearing in the spring on the edge of a deep woods can be. The boys tapped the two kegs of home brewed beer that Justin had brought, the coolers were full of iced drinks of all types, and Justin and Matthew set up a slide show in the house with pictures of Bunny through the years, oftimes with one or more of her family in the frame with her. This visual collage was accompanied by the music the she had put in a special file on her computer for this occasion. Lots of Jackson Brown, Van Morrison, Maura O’Connell, Elvis Costello and other artists of that sort, a sort of a folk/rock collection with a little bluegrass flavoring thrown in. The pictures drew people in and a small crowd gathered to watch. I glanced at a few photos now and then, just enough to see that our sons had made some really warm and thoughtful choices from the vast collection that Bunny had assembled, but I couldn't really watch. It was just too soon.
Originally they, well mostly Matthew, had thought that the best idea was to trap the balloons under a large orange tarp that they had tied to the garden fence. Boy it was ugly. But once Tristan and his helpers started filling the balloons in the garage and letting them rest against the ceiling in there while they were working on the task, it came to them that they could just put all of the filled balloons into the dining tent and trap them in there; because it not only had a hip roof, it had netted sides. So they filled about 100 balloons, tied them with string and attached paper cranes that they had made from biodegradable paper impregnated with wild flower seeds, at varying lengths. By the time that they had the entire collection assembled under the tent, the effect was just incredible. The tent ceiling was filed with multi-color balloons, and the paper swans, hovering at varying heights were waving in the breeze just below the ceiling level, giving the effect that they were flying around in there, yet somehow suspended in space. It was an unintended display; no one had thought to do anything like this beforehand and effect was wonderful and perfect, and almost magical in a circus-like way.
The party finally grew to a crowd of around a hundred. Tristan put up three giant helium balloons and tied them to a kite string to keep them hovering about 250 feet above the property. One of the giant balloons had had a few handfuls of sunflower seeds placed inside, and it went "whoosh, whoosh!' every time it moved.
The grills were lit and a fire started in the wood fired grill pit on the patio. The women had been at it again doing the prep. Jerri and Kyrssie joined in the kitchen army and made a mountain of burgers. We expanded the Amish made cherry table that Bunny and I had bought for such occasions to its full length in the kitchen (11 feet, I think) for desserts, and we set up Tristan’s 4 X 7 work table out on the porch for hors d'oeurvres, vegetable plates, chips and grilled meat and buns. They were both packed completely full so that other food, napkins, silverware and dishes were overflowing onto almost every other horizontal surface. Katie had done some of the planning for dishes by making suggestions to the guests that responded to the eVite, and the balance between sides, starters and desserts was just right.
Food was served and things quieted down for a bit. I didn't do much of anything, even eat; I just wandered around to talk to everyone that came. Wandering and talking, that’s what I’m good at. Oh, and maybe I drank a little. There were many babies, lots of children and adults of all ages, and there seemed to be a real feeling of family amongst the people that were there, even though most of them were meeting each other for the first time. There was running, playing and lots of laughter. The little stream and the pond were a constant draw for the children who played at the edges and in the running water, but I noticed that it also seemed to have quite an audience of adults, although they weren't trying to fish the frogs out of the pond like the kids were.
And did I mention that there was tie dye? It was quite a visual. Our sons and their wives had spent time during the preceding weeks making extra tie dye shirts, and those that came without were offered one to add to their wardrobe. I had to spend a certain amount of time on the porch to be able to just try to take it all in. You have to have the right vantage point to be able to see the whole picture. It's much too easy, some might say compelling, to become absorbed in the little activities of the party and in life; the conversations, the interactions, the play, the drinks, the babies and the food, and you end up missing the bigger picture and the beauty of the whole assemblage as, you know, a whole. I was attempting to savor the gathering and the scene in its entirety, and not just the whole party part, with it's wonderful friends and family and the melodious hum and murmur that comes from many people speaking simultaneously in friendly voices to each other, but the view of the trees budding out, the flowers in bloom, the ferns and the hostas coming up, the birds chirping and darting around (including the chickens), the breeze, the sounds of the fountains and the stream, and the smell of the grilling meat in the air. It was all just so that it was surreal, like a Disney cartoon movie, and almost hard to believe that it was really happening just like that. It was truly a festival atmosphere. Even the azaleas in the front of the master bedroom participated by choosing to bloom just on that day.
And nobody weird even showed up (and believe me, that has been a problem for us in the past because of the party reputation that some of my younger brothers had, the fact that our fire pit is right where the party spot used to be, and I have some, shall we say unusual characters for relatives (I’ll just leave it at that)), and after the food had been served, the party began to quiet down a little, just like you would wish that it would. The conversations became more intimate, the fire and the oils lamps that Bunny had made were lit, along with the yard torches that Matthew made and the rest of the beer was consumed. The group emptied both kegs (they are only 5 gallons each, though), consumed 2 gallons of Bourbon slush (Bunny’s favorite summer drink!), and pretty much all of the beer that was bought and brought in by guests (which was not an insignificant amount). I never saw anyone that was visibly drunk, but this group that we put together could sure put away some alcohol. The chairs that had been placed around the fire pit were filled up and a few more were added. Everyone gravitated into little groups and the air was filled with stories and laughter.
Matthew called to the crowd to come and get the balloons. Everyone took one as handed out from under the tent and we all headed out to the clear space by the garden where the big balloons were tethered. The guests all formed a circle around Matthew, and he told everyone about his mother's wish about releasing a bunch of balloons and about the cranes that had been attached, and how the balloons will just go up and pop and then the cranes will fly down and there will be more flowers. Everyone was very quiet while he spoke, and there was an aura of contemplation, not grief or real sadness. I kind of stood on the outside of the circle to be able to look at everyone at once. There were no grand statements, and no formal eulogy. At the end of his explanation He just said, "Is everybody ready? One, two three...". And off they went, 100 helium balloons with wildflower seeds to find their way to somewhere, a mixing, swarming, ever expanding mass of dots of color that came together for and instant and then flew out of sight much too soon. Like Bunny.
The cleanup began in earnest inside, with me, again, avoiding doing anything helpful. Those ladies all formed their little work circle once again, put all of the dinner foods away, and cleaned up most of the stuff, making sure that nothing would be left to spoil and the mess would be manageable for me in the morning. Of course the desserts, still a mighty collection, remained out and were still being slowly consumed. By 11:00 things had mostly spun down. The families with young children had to get home, and the old folks like me were getting pretty tired out.
It's somewhat ironic to note that this was also the weekend for Merlefest, a music festival that Bunny and I went to for many years. It’s always held during the last weekend in April in North Wilkesboro, NC to commemorate the life of Merle Watson, who died when he was much too young in a tractor accident. Merlefest is a beautiful and unique experience of music, dancing and friendship, and Bunny and I used to consider attending it every year as a veritable rite of spring, a pilgrimage of sorts, to the fountain of music that we both loved so much. 'Gusher' might be a better word. It's a festival of acoustic music with thirteen stages, hundreds of musicians and attending fans that number in the range of 80,000 AND it is run almost entirely by volunteers. The festival had a very humble beginning on the grounds of the Wilkesboro Community College some 23 years ago when the legendary Doc Watson wanted to celebrate the life of his beloved son who was not just his progeny, but his ideal and long desired musical partner. Maybe, it's fitting, not ironic, that Bunny’s party was held on that weekend. Ours was another celebration of life, with balloons and flowers instead of acoustic music.
I was the recipient of many wonderful hugs that afternoon and evening, well, the whole weekend really. Hugs are one of the many things that Bunny brought to my life; we always shared one at the important parts of the day: morning wakeup, off to work, in the evening, and mostly whenever either of us felt the need to be close. And I was grateful for all of those heartfelt expressions that I got. She could really give a good hug. Many of the hugs that I got were from my immediate family, but there were some fine hugs from old friends and family, some from acquaintances, and some people that had known her much better than they had ever known me. And a certain number of them met that higher standard, you know, not the little touch the shoulders pat on the back kind, but the deep heart to heart kind that transmits real feeling. While there was too much that was good about the whole event to say that any one experience was the 'best thing' of the evening, the hugs that I got would definitely have to be in the running, and I was grateful for the gifts of love and comfort.
I had quite a number of people come to me during the party with a sort of star struck look in their eyes and tell me that this was the way that they wanted to have the ceremony after their death. If you think about it, we have such a crazy death ritual in this place and time. In most cases, when someone dies, we ship the body off to the funeral home where the Funeral Director (aptly named) has someone poison the deceased body so that it can't decay, encourages the family to spend a small fortune on a decorative hermetically sealed box to put the poisoned body into, employs hair dresser and makeup artist to make the corpse look "life-like" so that they can display said body to everyone who just feels the need and wants to come in to get 'one last look'. He then arranges a very solemn ceremony where everyone dons uncomfortable suits and outfits that they've been keeping in the closet for just such an occasion and tries to look thoughtful and concerned. And everyone whispers and talks in low voices. To wrap it all up, they generally enlist someone to speak who never really knew the deceased so that eulogizer usually ends up fabricating important sounding things to say and ends up being just plain boring and wrong. Sometimes those services can even be rather irritating, but I know that I must be in the minority here, or it wouldn't be so common.
My wife was a person of few words. She hated hypocrisy, lies and pomp. And we both thought that the whole 'viewing' thing was just sick and weird.
And then the director leads everyone to the cemetery in a single file car line (the first few get to have little flags on their car roofs, yay!) so that they can all go and watch the furniture grade casket be lowered into the ground. After having been solemnly carried by some of his or her closest relatives; the once living person is entombed into the ground, and their atoms can never mix with the earth or the water and cannot participate in the forming of new life, or at least not for a very long time. And then they put a rock on the persons head on top of the ground; presumably so that they can't escape.
It's just hard to imagine how and why this tradition got started.
But by far, the strangest thing to me is that many of the surviving friends and relatives feel that they need to go to that shrine to grieve. They even bring flowers there, sometimes plastic ones. Even many that are cremated end up in some urn or have a placard put up somewhere so that the people that they know can come there to mourn their loss and to remember their loved one. I don't get it.
I morn my loss every morning when Bunny's not there breathing next to me when I wake up, when she's not there for me to bring coffee to (for the last I don't know how many years I had the pleasure of bringing her coffee in bed), to kiss good bye when I go off to work; and terribly in the evenings when she's not there to talk to and to share the hours of the waning day. The things that she made and the place that she created are here with me every minute of every day. Her pottery especially. Her presence is everywhere in my little world, and I couldn't escape it unless I sold everything and went far away by myself, because I see her in the eyes of our sons and our grandchildren and in the love that their wives provide to them and the others around. And even that wouldn't work because there would still be the sky, and the trees and the stars; and of course, the moon, the most powerful of my Bunny mnemonics. Why would anyone want to go to some manicured and foreign surrounding to pay homage, and to try to remember the living, breathing, loving person that they once held dear? I just don't get it, and the whole ritual gets more absurd and creepier the older that I get.
But even in death, Bunny continues to change people's attitudes. Her ceremony got many people thinking: Why must we follow these absurd traditions?
Lives should all be remembered for the good that they created, even if the only 'good' from a person’s life was a lesson to be learned about how not to live. Even a life whose main lesson was: "Don't be as stupid as he was!", can serve as an important reminder for the living, and thereby do some good. Why is it much more common to morn for the dead than it is to provide a celebration? The Christians think that when you die, if you're good mind you, you go to heaven. So why, in God's name (ahem) would one mourn that? It should call for a celebration.
And so it did.
The ripples in the pond go outward, long after the pebble has crashed through the surface. There will be flowers in unusual places this year, governed by the wind, the air and ultimately, the sun. A life should be celebrated and the good that one created should shine and warm all of those in the range of its touch. Bunny's entire family, including friends, really rose to the occasion of celebrating an exceptional, loving life; by showing the love that they had for her and each other, and what better memorial could anyone ever want than that?
There were many young’uns at the party. As Bunny always said: “Old people need to die to make room for the babies”. Life goes on, a little more sadly now that she’s gone, but the world is a better place because of all that she gave and created, and we’re glad that she was here.
