Kelsi also asked, “Now that you’re Christian, you’re not going to try to turn me, are you?  Cuz that’s not cool.”  No, I don’t want to turn her.  She doesn’t want God in her life, so when she dies, she won’t have God in death.  She gets what she wants because God respects her choice.  But, what if she sort of still believes it with a tiny bit of her heart? From what I’ve read so far – and I’m not holding a book in front of me, so there won’t be any references at the moment (and feel free to correct me if I have this wrong!) – there are levels of heaven and hell, correct?  Somewhere in “I Don’t Have Enough Faith to be an Atheist,” it says that everyone will experience the afterlife differently, that our lives on earth prepare us for how we experience eternity.  I wonder how she would experience it.  Is it like the “Celestine Prophecy” suggests: constantly living out the control dramas of our lives for all eternity?  If that’s Hell, I’ll take Heaven…

In Joey’s article from almost a year ago, Riding the Wave? he talked about the sensation of surrendering to the Higher Power, whatever it may be.

I’ve chosen God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.

He’s chosen…something I don’t quite understand completely, but it works for him.  If he feels that for all eternity, I’m sure he’d be plenty pleased with it.  All I know is that surrendering to the Higher Power is an incredibly freeing and secure feeling.  Funny that this song just came on:

So here I am, seven years after high school, and I’m back to pouring my heart out to the world wide web.  I’m not sure how many people read this, as apposed to my LiveJournal days.  I don’t always link these posts, usually when they are on the more private side, but I might link this one … ‘cuz I want it read.  It amuses me to see the cycle.  I’m back where I started, changed, and an all around better person.

What I really wanted to write about was Rosie.  For those of you who don’t know her, she’s my super amazing, down to earth, “crass” (to use one of Rhiannon’s favorite British-English terms), and frank persons I know.  She’s no bullshit, but hardly ever business.  If there was ANYONE in the world who was destined to be a mother, she’s the one.  Her love is firm, but never ending, and motherhood has been her dream for as long as I’ve known her (which has been her whole life).

Last night I got a call from my lovely sister.  Rosie had an eye doctor’s appointment yesterday, and she found out she is almost completely blind in her right eye.  Let me back up a little.  Two years ago in July, Rosie gave birth to my godson, Landon.  After the pregnancy she started seeing silver fish in her right eye, and whoever (not sure if it was a doctor or a post-pregnancy nurse, she told me, but I forgot … I’m a bad brother sometimes) told her it was postpartum migraines.

Rosie has always been delicate, and I mean physically.  If you knew Rosie, you’d know how strong she is.  Always trying to rise above her limitations.  Never truly falling into the victim role she could play (although, understandably, she does have her moments).  She’s used to get in trouble for fighting at school … and I’m pretty sure she’s still in denial about being white–but that’s another topic.  I just can’t stop thinking about how awesome Rosie is, and how awful what is happening to her.

By delicate I mean, Rosie has always been small.  When she was born my mother had to put her in cabbage patch doll clothes.  She was born with a bone disease (inherited, albeit a stronger form of it, from our great-grandmother) called bradydactyly.  She still gets teased about her small fingers, but I don’t know anyone else who can give me the middle TOE!  For the longest time she was afraid of not being able to have kids, because of this, so when she had Landon … it was the best thing I could have hoped for her.  This eyesight loss seems like a cruel trade off.

Turns out, the whoever at the hospital misdiagnosed her.  If it had been postpartum migraines, she would have seen silver fish in BOTH of her eyes, coupled with, you know, an actual migraine.  Now, two years later, her retina is almost completely separated (with little hope of salvaging it) from the back of her eye.  The “worst” part about it … Rosie is pregnant again.  Even if there IS something they can do, they have to wait until AFTER she’s had the baby.

Knowing Rosie, this won’t slow her down at all, but I can’t help bawling my eyes out (definitely no pun intended).  Just the thought of her not being able to see Landon and the coming baby grow up … it’s not something I’m handling very well.  And it also makes me wonder if I can do something about it.  Just the other day Rhiannon was telling me that there is technology in development which can literally PRINT live human organs.  It’s yet another reason why what Rhiannon and I are doing HAS to be great.  There HAS to be something I can do for her.  Maybe not now, but not too far into the future either.

The Worst:

One would think the worst that could happen is failing: we never finish the book, nobody wants to publish it or it gets published and no one likes it. That would be pretty bad, but I’d still have the experience of being a novelist, something I never thought I’d actually have. Not to mention, we’re only a few chapters from the end of the rough draft, so I don’t think the first failure, of not finishing the novel, will happen. There is still the chance that no one will publish it or like it, but I find that doubtful.
We’re writing with our contemporaries, much like every time period I ever studied in British, American, or World lit. The classes are all about, “How is this similar to who came before and how is it different?” We are taking what is popular at the time and integrating the elements we like while making fun of the elements that we dislike.
And if no one likes what we write, we still have the experience, one that has brought Joey and I closer together than I thought possible. Which brings me to the absolute worst thing that could happen in this venture, and it could happen before or during publishing: something could turn into a huge argument between us and end our friendship forever.

I don’t think this could possibly happen. If it was going to, I imagine it would’ve happened already. Luckily for us, we’ve spent a lot of time fighting about useless things in the duration of our friendship and have therefore learned how to navigate an argument into something useful; every time we have an argument about the book, the story gets even better.

The Best:

Obviously the best case scenario is that our book catches the world’s imagination and we soar into the consciousness of our audience. That I’ll become a New York Times bestselling author, something I’ve wanted since I read Stephanie Plum and saw that splashed on every one of Evanovich’s books.  And maybe saying things like that does sound naïve. But if I didn’t go after this chance, I would be absolutely insane, especially since the worst that can happen seems so utterly unlikely. Let them say no to us; they can’t take away the artistic genius that has come from our writing partnership or the fun we’ve had along the way.

Not to mention, I’ve been writing more of the book!  Almost finished another chapter, and I’m pleased with the product.  Hope you enjoyed our escapades.  This was during my grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary party.

I chat with Branden for a while, and we make tentative plans for that evening.

I wrote the next batch of Chapter Five of the book Rhi and I are so feverishly trying to finish draft one of by the 21st of September…a day that means many things.  It’s Rhiannon, Phil (my brother), and Emily’s (my niece; Sandra’s daughter) birthday.  It is also the symbolic first day of autumn, my favorite season, and it just so happens to be the day the next Mika album comes out.  Anyway, I digress.

I was ready for a break in writing.  I took the short walk over to Shaw’s Supermarket looking for inspiration for dinner.  I picked up a few pieces of fruit I like.  Got two desserts for myself and my mother at the bakery, then wandered over to the meat department.  It was sitting there – gleaming in it’s cellophane wrapping – begging to be taken home with me.  How could I refuse such a perfectly beautiful roast?  But the size of it, nearly five pounds.  Was is possible to slow cook this in time for dinner?  It was eleven thirty.  I asked the meat guy and he said 6-8 hours.  We’re late eaters, my mother and I, it would work.

When I get home, the first thing I do is put the roast in the crock pot.  Inspiration comes to me.  I don’t want to just fill the pot with water.  I want to give this roast some flavor.  I open all the cabinets – smelling and tasting spices and sauces and broths – OH me, oh my, such choices.  I go with my first instinct and add equal amounts of organic canned apple juice and water, rosemary, two bay leaves, and I season the roast with salt and pepper.  The fragrence, by the way, is amazing right now…I can’t wait to devour this roast.  Around 3:30 I’ll add the potatoes and carrots.  This should be a nice meal.

Back in my room I crack open the one and only Pepsi I’ve allowed myself to purchase today and sit back down at the computer.  I talk to Branden again and it seems he won’t be able to get together with me until later that night, and I had a sudden strong urge for Mommy-time.  I’d been neglecting her lately, and I knew it.  Whenever people come over we’re usually holed-up in my room.  Rhiannon and I are usually hard at work, and I usually keep my door shut nightly as a courtesy (I listen to music a bit too loud to leave my door open).  It has been about a month since Mom and I have had some “us” time.  We like our “us” time.  SO I cancel with Branden and we decide another time is best.

Then, before I get started writing again, I decide to call Rosie to see what was up.  I found out what she was stressed about, a private matter I don’t think appropriate to bring up here.  Although I will say that it ended with her telling me that Mom wanted her to come over tonight with Landon (my godson, Rosie’s son).  How lucky for her that I got such a large roast!  How lucky I just so happened to clear off my schedule to hang out with Mom tonight and be free to be there for her!  It was almost as if divine providence was guiding me through such a great day as it has been for me.  Giving me the urge to cook real food, then finding the perfect match to what will be a nice end of the day.

After I got off the phone with Rosie I called Mom at work.  I got some more of the specifics of Rosie’s problem then told her about how neat it was that my day had inadvertently made it so tonight would be as pleasant as could be for the four of us.  She laughed and agreed, because she intended to do a little grocery shopping this morning, but got called into work early!  What another nice coincidence.

Now, I sit here wondering…is this what they mean by riding the wave of life?  Is this what they mean when they say go with the flow?  Have I handed my life over to a higher power?  Sure, the events of today were mundane, but it is still nice to see how connected everything seems when you’re not stressed and just letting life play with you…instead of playing with life.  I am full of so much inspiration today; I will be surprised if I get any sleep tonight.  I may write until I can’t move anymore.  It is such a grand feeling.

Coffee

Credit for the subject of this issue goes to Rhiannimated.  I wanted something less boring to write about.  At least I can tell funny stories about coffee in my life.  You see, I don’t drink it.  Never have, really.  I’ve tried to get addicted.  I’ve tried loading it up with milk and sugar, but that does help.  I love the smell, but I can’t really stand the taste.  When I do drink it, I drink it black, because if I’m drinking it, I’m drinking it to be awake…which is the only reason anyone should drink it in my humble opinion.

My sister, Rosanna, she’s addicted to coffee.  It’s impossible to talk to the woman before she’s had her first cup.  She’s either mute or mean until she gets that jolt of caffeinated energy.  I can identify with these feelings I guess.  I feel similarly to cigarettes.  Although, I’m not one to rush to my first cigarette.  It’s the best of the day, that first one, I always like to savor it.

Rhiannimated, I have noticed, has a slightly different approach to coffee.  She drinks it like I drink Pepsi.  I’m not sure if you could consider either of us addicted to caffiene.  I can live without it, and I do go through periods where I don’t drink soda.  One thing I’ve never known Rhiannon to do is rush to the coffee pot in the morning every morning.  There are days – and even weeks – when she does, but it’s not part of her normal routine I’d say.  If it is, I haven’t noticed.

What I have noticed is this blog isn’t really about coffee, but coffee’s roll in my life.  Which is all, I guess, anyone can expect.  Hey, at least I’m sticking to my goal and writing a blog everyday.  I want to be able to see how crazy I was five years from now.  Ah hah!  I think I found tomorrow’s subject.

Crocheting

I’ve been crocheting since I was eight years old.  My mother taught me, because I wouldn’t stop begging her.  And could you imagine how it was for a right handed young person to learn from a lefty?  It was fun, that’s for sure.  I learned a lot from watching.  How to hold the needle right.  How to make my stitches the right size.  She also taught me how to read a pattern in books on crocheting.

Every couple of months I pick up a needle and yarn and start weaving a new project in my head.  Right now, I have a lot of loose yarn ends.  I know I’m making a hippie shawl with it, but I’m undecided who for.  If I end up liking this design (which I am making up as I go), then I may have to write the pattern down and replicate with better colors.

I suppose you thought I was going to be talking about how to crochet today.  Sorry to disappoint you.  Just intended to talk about crocheting.  I only have one sister who crochets as well.  Sandra used to crochet, a long time ago with the rest of us.  Rosanna crochets like crazy.  Or…at least she used to.  She’s starting to say that she can’t crochet anymore.  It makes me sad she has to give up something she loves so much.  I don’t do it very often, but I’m happy to have a creative task I can focus on with ease, then turn out some beautiful items.

My favorite project I’ve ever done is a popcorn aphgan in electric pink and sour apple green for Rhiannon.  Alas, there are no pictures of it.  Maybe Rhiannon can do one up someday.  The blanket now resides on her bitty couch in all it’s bright colored glory.  And this is the jumping off point for the day.

Death

It’s coming up on the year mark of my Grandpa Gagnon’s death.  I was exploring the idea of death this morning.  Death is one of those questions that get put in the lump of all the great questions nearly everyone wants an answer to.  Now, what I have to say today about death and loss may not help people – it may not help me when someone closer to me than Grandpa Gagnon dies – but they are my ideas.  At least, my current ideas.

I think not having the greatest relationship with my grandfather helped me come to these conclusions.  I’m going to start by giving the “facts” we understand.  Facts being in quotes, because I don’t do actual research for this blog series.  These are just my thoughts upon waking.  We know everything in the universe is made of atoms and sub-particles…we don’t have everything figured out about that, but we know our body is made of these atoms, and somehow we manage to keep those up a mass of them which comprise our bodies.  We also know that memories are kept in our organs.  We’ve seen habits and tastes change in those who have organs donated to them.  So part of who we are is definitely the body.  They’re still working on proving theories of what the mind actually is.  We know there’s things we can think that don’t like directly to the brain, but I won’t get into that here since we’re talking about “facts.”

So, putting the philosophical afterlife aside, what does happen to us when we die?  Knowing that our memories are encased in our bodies, can I assume that as we decompose our memories are attached to the atoms which made up our bodies?  Do our memories go into the animals and plants which consume our bodies after death?  It’s possible.  If death was only to bring me that far – to share my memories with the expanse of the universe – then can I be satisfied with that.  As an individual, I think so.  I like sharing, hence the blog.

I don’t want to really get into this, but: is the reverse true?  When we’re born, do the atoms that once made up my father’s sperm and my mother’s egg contain memories of my parents that are not only genetic, but containing memories of their lives in the moment of conception?  Just a thought.  It would make a lot of sense to the person I’ve become.

Loss

This second part is more important than the first, I think.  It’s not so important what happens to us when we die.  We’re all going to have to deal with that when we get there, and understanding it doesn’t help when someone you love dies.  I’ve spent my entire life curious about other realms and what happens when we die.  Sorry kids, this is another Catholic affliction.

Speaking of loss, that “demon” is already crying for another cigarette.

Growing up, I was taught the good people go to heaven, and the bad go to hell (like so many of us).  I neither believe in heaven nor hell anymore.  It took a long time to get there.  Anyways, I wondered even then, why people were so upset when people died.  If they were good, shouldn’t we be happy they are now with God in heaven?  My mother explained it to me this way.  We don’t cry for the ones we’ve lost; we cry for ourselves, because they are no longer with us.

I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not sure of the truth of this.  Sure, they won’t be part of my physical life anymore.  I can’t go to Florida and see my grandfather anymore, but he has by no means left my life.  He left my physical life WAY before he died, and that may help with grieving, but I don’t believe for a second he is gone.  I can feel him in my memories.  I can hear his words.  I think, when someone enters your life you can never lose them.

I’m going to be honest.  Now that I’m writing this entry, I don’t really understand this enough to put it in words.  Everything I’ve ever done, everyone I’ve ever met and interacted with for a period, and all of my memories will be with me for as long as I live.  I have not lost my grandfather.  He’s still in my life.  Granted, he’s in that part of my life that is my past, but from what I’ve seen we understand very little about how our mind works.  I travel to those times in my life (past, present and future) that help me feel how I want to feel.  When I’m feeling loss, I simply go to the place in myself where that thing I am missing still exists.   Maybe it doesn’t make me feel 100% better, but I know that I haven’t lost anything.  The effect – the memories – will never leave me.  Neither has his memories, really.  If you think about it, they’re just more spread out.  That’s funny.  It gives weight to a cliche.  “I will always be with you.”  The memories that once made up my grandfather could be anywhere in the universe.  I guess he really is all around.