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I’m not going to pay much attention to grammar because this needs to come out as a flow.
On Sunday, two days shy of my 32nd birthday, I was once again reminded how precious a birthday can be.
My friend Niki and I spontaneously decided to drive to Joplin to do our part in countering a planned protest of the memorial for tornado victims at Missouri Southern State University by a certain “church” of spiteful people.
We arrived at MSSU to find that the gang of sign-waving free haters were nowhere to be seen. We heard they’d been trapped in a gas station by some patriotic truckers and bikers, which filled out hearts with great joy. Instead we wandered to where a large group had gathered to watch the President on a big screen as he addressed Joplin.
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I was excited to know that the Goddess Festival CDs were on the way and thought about how happy my mother would be to know that I’m on it. And that got me thinking about a time in fourth grade that not only shows one of my favorite sides of my mom, but also kind of explains why I am the way I am.
One of my fourth grade teachers submitted me for the school’s gifted and talented program. I got to sit in a little side area and fill out a test that, in retrospect, would have said more about me if it asked what the test had to do with being gifted and/or talented. Because I still don’t know. The man who was in charge of the program then looked over my test and called me and my mother into a conference.
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My mother loved Carolyn Wagner. Just loved her to pieces. Back during their days of gay activism, when they rode to various places trying to make the world a better place, mom collected a variety of Carolyn stories she loved to tell. Her personal favorite involved a time when they stopped at a restaurant and someone was being less than nice to Carolyn’s son. So she calmly walked over with her purse and said, “I just thought you oughta know, that’s my son, you son of a bitch, and I’m packin’.”
According to mom, this was quite effective, and when Carolyn returned to the table she calmly said, “they didn’t need to know all I’m packin’ is a jar of peanut butter!”
That’s the Carolyn I’ve always known. You just didn’t mess with her kid. She was a PFLAG pioneer and a human rights advocate par excellence. And one of the funniest damn people I have ever come across in my entire life.
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 Dushku as Faith Lehane A while back I promised someone that I would write about why I often sign emails and letters with the salutation, “Peace, love and Eliza Dushku.” Since May 10th is not far away, I figured now was as good a time as any to make good on it.
Last year, May 10th was Mother’s Day. It was also the day my mom died of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. After two of the busiest months I can remember, I proceeded to spend the rest of 2009 completely losing my mind. And I don’t mean that as a joke.
Part of the reason for my almost complete detachment with reality was due to my fantastic ability to bury things (among other factors). I can bury things so deep they become completely invisible. The only problem is, they tend to then unbury themselves and beat me repeatedly with a pointed stick. And then I bury them, and then they scratch and claw their way back up and flog me with a wet tire iron.
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It’s Sunday night and I’m not really sure what I’m going to say yet about this weekend, so this may or may not turn into a rambling mess. I thought stream of consciousness would be more honest, so there you go.
A very quick back story: My mother was thrilled in 2009 when The Goddess Festival was born. Because of her health, she wasn’t able to attend nearly as much of it as she wanted. The fact that Vick Kelley was a part of it was a bonus to mom, because she always loved Vick, and Vick had been very helpful throughout mom’s illness and at many other times.
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In going back over some emails and phone messages, I’ve gathered some interesting random quotes by people I’ve sought counseling from since my mom died. There isn’t really anything earth-shattering, but some are just interesting enough to make me go, “hmm…that’s right.” Thought I’d share a few, without mentioning names.
“It’s amazing how charming truly nasty people can be when other people come around.”
“The haughtier someone is when they tell you an obvious lie, the less conscience they have about telling the lie.”
“You can’t hold behavior against someone right away after a death because grief might be controlling them. A few months later if they’re still dicks, they probably just are. I wouldn’t worry about it either way.”
“Watch out for irrational people.”
“You’re starting on a new life. Don’t let anybody try to make you live theirs.”
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I sat down to write this with no idea what I was going to say or how I was going to say it. A lot of people knew Mom really well, from how giving she could be to how outright ornery she could be. That’s ornery in a good way of course. They knew her as a friend, a confidante, a sister, an aunt, an adopted grandma and a social butterfly. Some knew her as an accountant who had no problem asking, “Why in the world did you do this?” Shawn and I will remember her as quite possibly the best mother on the planet. So instead of writing about things a lot of other people already knew, I figured I’d write about things special just to us, and a few more I just couldn’t help but mention.
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