A Lifetime of Good-Byes

I have often wondered what would have happened if my family remained in Rhode Island when I turned 11, instead of moving to Cleveland. I imagine our happy family staying so, surrounded by my friends and family. I moved away from the Midwest as soon as I was able, and I have spent the rest of my life saying good-byes. Hard to not blame Cleveland for that.

I have stayed in New York for two reasons. One, I can't go while my divorce goes on and on. And, two, and most importantly, because it is home for my daughter. Oh, I guess three reasons: I hate moving. And I hate good-byes. Okay, four reasons... 

I said my farewells to my mother for the last time over 3 years ago now. I witnessed her final breath, and it was a privilege and honor to have known and loved her. I wish I had told and shown her this love more strongly when I had the chance. 

Me and my beautiful mom. I miss you, Jean.

It is now time for another: Tootie Pie. My heart aches to think of my life without her, although it is natural and to be expected. I love her ferociously and have structured my world around her. Now, what? 

Of course, I am happy that she is starting her own adventure, but I can be proud and sad at the same time, it seems. Motherhood is a complicated emotion, that's for sure.

Tootie Pie, you are and will always remain my greatest achievement. I am certain that you know this. I hope you see yourself with the love that I do. I think you do, but don't you ever let anyone make you doubt that you are capable, strong, self-reliant, kind, smart, beautiful and empathetic. Don't make the same mistakes that I did of letting your kindness blind you to self-absorbed others. Always put yourself first. Remember that you are my whole world, and I live and die for you. We will always share the same sky; I am always with you. This is not good-bye, but see-you-later.

I love you so dearly that it hurts, and I am excited for what the future holds for you. Whatever it is, you will kill it, girlie! As my Gramps said, "Go out and GET IT!" I know you will. Rock on...

Peace

Identifying My Native Land and My Tootie Pie

I saw the paintings, and they called to me. Once, I was passing right by it, and from the corner of my eye, I knew. It was Tootie Pie. It is a masterpiece.

I bought it! But, of course. It captures HER, in all her glory! Kiliko, her classmate, is the artist.

Then, again, although earlier, I spotted what I knew was New England. The painting, below, is of Schoodic, Maine.  

I have not been to Schoodic (is there a more Maine sounding name?), but something about the coloration of the rocks and the light told me, this is home. I was born outside of Boston, and call Rhode Island home. The artist is Marsden Hartley.

I have always been envious of visual artists. I used to use the program guides from the Ice Capades to draw Dorothy Hamill, and the result could be posted on badfanart.com. Once, somehow, I was able to capture the likeness of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, but this was accidental. Both of these works are (fortunately) lost to time. The ability of these artists to portray such specificity is amazing. 

It was certainly the pink sequins that
inspired me to imitate, but crayons and
magic markers fail to convey their sheen.
Plus, her arms looked mutant on my
version. I did her dirty.

My Irish Initial

I have been obsessed with Medieval art since I knew there was such a thing. It may be the gold halos, it may be the slightly off-kilter proportions of the people, but it has always attracted me. It is funny, that my name, Kelleher, is so similar to Kells, as in the Book of Kells. Well, interestingly, the letter K is not native to Ireland. My name is an Anglicized version of the Celtic (pronounced Kell-tic) Ó Céileachair. And, no, there is not an apostrophe, but an acute accent. It means descendent of Céileachair. A céilí is a social gathering, but Céileachair means lover of a social gathering. So, somewhere in my ancestry, someone loved a party.

Now, technically, the Book of Kells is not Medieval, but Dark Ages, but I feel the imagery is in the same vein. It is also a misnomer, especially in Ireland, to call it the Dark Ages, because, once the Visigoths conquered the Roman Empire, neither one touched this distant western corner of Europe, and the arts flourished in Ireland during this time. It is ironic that an illuminated manuscript came from the Dark Ages, innit? I saw this when in Dublin, and even though I was only allowed to view one page, like all visitors, it was so detailed that I could have stared at it forever. Since I first laid eyes on it, in 1988 and again in 1995, Trinity College in Dublin has since scanned the pages. Many of the pages feature intricate Celtic designs incorporating knotwork and animals, and even images of the big names of the Bible, which is what the Book of Kells is. I wanted to find my initials, but sadly, there was no such thing as the letter K in circa 800 Ireland. So, my first initial will have to suffice, and, boy, does it! Just look at it:

So, what you are looking at is the first word, in Latin, of the Book of Matthew, "Liber". The L is curved, I cut off the bottom of the letter I, a large "B", and within the B, the ER (the image is large, so click on it to see all five letters). The first book of Matthew is "The Book of Generations", or "Liber generationis". Funnily enough, when I was younger, I sat down to read the New Testament, and read page after page of this first book. I gave up who knows how many generations into it and never returned to it. I expected more. I am not religious, but I do consider myself Christian, as in, aiming to be like Christ. But, c'mon, Matthew! Try to hook your audience, man.

But enough about the story; the beauty and intricacies of this single word is just breath-taking. Scholars say that Matthew was depicted with wings, and you can see that the faceless person in the left-most side clearly has beautiful gold tipped wings. Another two blokes here are both clutching books, which were cherished. Most of the animals look like snakes, but didn't St. Patrick both bring Christianity to Ireland AND drive out the snakes? But, they're perhaps not snakes. Are these dogs, specifically hounds or Great Danes? At first glance, I thought frogs, but frogs don't have tails, and these creatures do.

 

And this. I still say they're snakes, but the creatures end with either bird claws or fish tails for the purple bodies, or with a sort of lion's tail in the case of the yellow animals. No matter what they are, they are mesmerizing:

A close up of the ends of the tails:

Absolutely certain this
is a lion's tail

Fish tail?

But, wait, these are lions! Argh!

This is one page, one WORD for goodness sake, of a masterpiece. Somehow, they turned the dry genealogy of Jesus into an absolute, gobsmacking chef d'oeuvre, those unknown Irish monks did. Also, these monk-authors had a sense of fantasy and humor. Maybe these are snakes, but they've given them different animals' tails. It is a work of whimsy. I'm not certain Irish monks circa 800 had ever seen a lion, so there is definitely artistic license being taken. I challenge you to find your initial in this treasure and do your own deep dive into it. Or, pick an animal, and search it within the Book of Kells. No matter where you end up, you will be the richer for it.

Another drawing of Matthew, this time
with a dead eye

Since the drawing to the left is showing the man
with the wrong hand holding the book, apparently
to avoid the same mistake, deformed hand hidden
on right

No discussion of the Book of Kells without
a mention of a man who is playing his
harp snake with his two left hands

Another sensational L! What will you find?

Partial Unveiling Fish Chandelier

Well, it's missing a bulb and I still need to string 4 1/2 fish strands, but it looks good. Because it has 6 bulbs, it is not casting fish shadows, alas. 

It's custom and bespoke and delicate. No two fish are the same, and there are non-fish surprises such as a wave bead that ties the color scheme together and a glass bubble. There is a massive deep green fish. They all sparkle with Aurora Borealis (it's a bead thing). I wanted to make a blue whale gathering up the fish into a readily edible mass like I witnessed in Juneau, but never did. I don't have the right colors any longer and I like it without predators. 

I put the longer strands in the middle, the medium ones in between and the shorter ones along the outside for a graduated appearance that mimics the bulb stems. I want to learn how to make a circle with beads to create one octopus, but so far all I managed is one transparent star fish. This is the perfect task to beat the heat and humidity. A bit more fish making and I'll need another project. Alas, all of our ceilings are covered and I need to move onto another medium but light fixtures are my favorite. Oh, and after I finish with the fish, I need to strand my plastic flowers because this chandelier is CONVERTIBLE! The flowers should cover the space better than the fish because they are larger. 

Rhode Island

Hey, fun-loving New Englanders. Here's a ride that you
alone power. None of that new-fangled electricity here, nosiree.
Work up a sweat to try to get this giant metal cage
ALL THE WAY AROUND! Maybe even induce
a heart attack, if you're lucky.

Candy colored Lincoln Park. I have no photos, but the pictures live strong in my mind of the glorious tack that was a 1970s family style New England amusement park. Mom would pack a lunch that I would dance through with anticipation in the parking lot. I was tall enough that my father took me on the Comet coaster and it's not an experience I'll soon forget: if not for my father's karate chop to my waist on that first hill, I was falling forward onto the tracks. Clack, clack, clack! Good times. My sister would invariably get sick on fried clams. Many rides I wouldn't consider tackling because I was certain my parents wouldn't go for it, but those cages that could, in theory, swing 360 degrees sure looked dangerous. I always felt bad for the people in the Monster ride ("Monster Ride") who would emerge on the second floor. The humans pinned against the circle ("The Round Up") had nope written all over it.

CHiPs for the tykes

Basically the same ride, but
not motorcycles, storks

Who could focus on sandwiches

when all this awaited?

I couldn't understand my mother's
aversion to this. I think I know
now. Back problems, anyone?

But what I did ride I'll always remember. Storks, motorcycles, boats, cars with horns and steering wheels that did nothing, some sort of garish barrel, rocket ships, cars, and the flimsiest ferris wheel this side of a carnie. I got into one of those bucket seated multi-armed deals ("The Scrambler") with my little sisters and misjudged the centipedal force to crush my baby sis. No one cared about safety or intestinal health back then. No padding on "The Whip". Very few seatbelts - just a bar to grip. No one seemed to have planned anything besides my mother's lunch: we'd see families strapped with massive plushies that would take the entire backseat on the ride home. Ugly, cheap, HUGE eyesores that they already regretted winning for $100 in today's equivalent. 

 

Burlap in use

I know this reveals my age, but times were different. By today's standard, I'm amazed that Lincoln Park didn't have a class action lawsuit daily. Nothing preventing the kiddos from bailing out of the boat ride into the brown water. Most rides just encouraged you to hold on as their risk-avoidance mechanism. We "rode" the big slide by climbing stairs and, get this, using half of a burlap bag as protection from the searing heat and friction burns. It is a wonder as many of us survived to adulthood, truth be told. Far scarier than "The Monster" ride, was a total lack of safety. But, it was fun.

You couldn't say you weren't
warned

Clinging to life

That "safety belt" I'm
quite sure does NOTHING

This is incredibly girly, but many of those arcade games had dolls made out of nylon stockings and outfitted like Mae West in a riot of pastels and pouf. I'd dream of these visions of femininity all night as I could still feel my body sliding down "the big slide". 

Yes, this is what a 9-year old girl dreams of in 1977.
She was the epitome of femininity in my eyes.

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. I have lost touch with that young, wild girl who was brimming with excitement. The world seemed so magical. It was magical.

clams!

Clams, 

clams,

You certainly had options to eat
a few clams

Cigs were encouraged. Leisure
suit optional.

My father drove me out of Rhode Island in an Oldmobile Cutlass Supreme in 1979. I just drove my own self out of Rhode Island and I couldn't believe I'd do the same horrible thing to myself. It is magic. Every corner has the cutest pre-Revolutionary homes with their diamond lead glass windows. I found the homes in Providence I remember thinking even back then, special. I visited Federal Hill finally and felt the presence of Guy Alba cutting hair until close to 100 years old. I grew up in a magical place and it's still breath-taking. Rhode Island gives you a sense of discovery. Maybe it's because I didn't actually have an itinerary and my co-pilot was Tootie Pie, but I am counting the days until Rhode Island is mine again.

Full, Fuller, Fuller

 

The fish population growth

I feel confident I will get the chandelier up. I vacillate between this optimism, unfounded, and the pits of depression about it. On the plus side, I have 26 of the 42 strands, or 104 of the 168 fish, completed now and thankfully it's starting to look like a collection of fish and not a sad middle school dance with infusible clumps of friends. I am hoping we may get fish shadows once installed. So, a mere 16 strands to go, or just 64 more fish to create! Piece of cake.

As for my mood, I may have inadvertently gone off my meds again. It is too easy in this day and age to fall off the depression radar and not get your pills. Far too simple. And, the best part is, you may or may not be aware of this fact, because of plans not covering certain prescriptions or quantities or other arcane reasons to prevent me from my meds, and using substitute, off-brand names that you're not at all familiar with. Am I taking an old prescription, and my current one is not covered? Well, that's for my depressed ass to get on top of for the umpteenth time. Chasing down meds is a full-time job.

Speaking of full-time jobs, I need one. Another indignity besides the medical system is the job search. Impersonal, sure, it's business, but there should be the beginnings of a relationship and it isn't there any more. We're in a race to the bottom and it scares me. 

Happy fish! Just keep swimming.

Half Complete Fish Shoal and Dining Room Disaster

My fish shoal is 1/3 complete. I made 16 strands of four, out of a total of 42. This creates low fullness on the 6 inch diameter ring I am staging the fish strands on. I am doing this diligently to avoid hanging the chandelier. I have cleaned it. I have the bulbs. I need to ask for help, and I have no problem asking. The problem is no one wants to lend a hand. 

Sixteen strands of 4 fish. Looks sparse
and still tangles.

It's okay. I have been known to weed my friends' driveways and sweep up confetti and other thankless jobs because later, my friends would hold the ladder as I get another plastic bag out of my tree or loosen that screw I can't budge. Whatever. I'll do it alone. It is cemented to the ceiling. Fine. I am trying to remove it and I want to cry, and this will make it that much more glorious when I finally achieve it, I must say so to myself to keep from doing myself in. 

It still tangles. The fish are disappointingly tiny. They hardly sparkle. Many fish are non-symmetrical and will always seem to be swimming in circles. I am not in a great mood.

The old fixture is down - cue religious music. It required the use of a spatula. The new chandelier is HEAVY and I need help putting it up. There it is. That is why it stayed on my floor and became covered in dust. The dream of a new chandelier. I have not been getting what I want lately. I think it's part of the aging process. People flock to you when you're young and beautiful. Become a bit janky around the edges and suddenly, you lose all appeal. It is men and their frustrating lack of ability to see women as people. They did it then and they're doing it now. What can I do but persevere?

I am past the halfway point: 25 strands out of 42 total. They're so small. I liked the overlap that the inspiration fixture had and the basis in art also had. Here they are for reference:

In comparison, my fish are sparse and overfished to the point of colony collapse. I still have the flowers to fall back on. Oh, maybe the layering of the fixture will give the illusion of fullness. I am noticing how narrow the inspiration fixture is compared to mine and the fish in the inspo are about a third of the width. My fish are minnows and not worth catching!