Category: loss

If you guild it, they will come

family, grandchildren, grandma, loss, Pasley's Down Under

I have always wanted to be part of a guild. Not a club or an association. I want to be a guild member. It just sounds so awesome.

A Guild is an association of craftsmen in a particular trade. I am not a craftsmen, nor am I skilled in any particular trade. This is a problem. What guild would have me?

There is then only one answer. I must create my own guild and become skilled enough to contribute to the guild in a meaningful way. A guild must also have members so please read my proposal and let me know if you would like join my guild. There will be t-shirts.

In honor of my Great Grandma Ostrom who went to be with her Creator yesterday, I hereby establish The Guild of Grandchildren. In keeping with modern times, all Guild Members will be referred to as “G’s”.

All members will be required to actively hone the skills handed down to them by their Grandparents so that said skills may be entrusted to the generations that follow.

Skills may include:

Embroidery

Cross Stitch

Culinary Preparation and Presentation

Canning

Pickling

Whittling

Quilting

Wood Chopping

Future Guild Events May Include:

Summer Canning Festival

Doily Making Conference

Swedish Pancake Eating Competition (I am the current world champion of this event)

Apron Design Tutorial

How To Survive An Economic Downturn Utilizing the Art of Pickling Workshop

Elma Slug Festival – This festival includes a high stakes slug race. With some good

recruiting and training, I think our Guild sztands a chance to win.

Please be on the lookout for prospects.

http://community.seattletimes.nwsource.com/archive/?date=19920517&slug=1492292

I hope you decide to join the Guild. There will be buttons.

Removing the Blog Block

Australia, family, loss, Pasley's Down Under

I am having some blogging blockage. I seem to only feel inspired when something goes comically wrong, or is light heartedly moving. Why can’t I write about pain and loss? Do I have an aversion to putting tragedy in writing? Maybe I am afraid of making it official.

It seems as of late that every time I take my place in front of the PC to share an anecdote or a warm memory, my hands go limp. I am not short on joyous and humorous reflections or stories.  In fact, my Dad and Lucy’s trip to the Taronga Zoo on the hottest day of the year was tempting to write about.   I had them sit in the baking sun for a half an hour so they could see a bird show, which was cut short due to animal heat exhaustion.  Or perhaps I could have chronicled our spontaneous journey to the Hunter Valley where the sun ebbed and the wine flowed. It was delicious fun.

I could write for pages on Kenna’s kindergarten adventure thus far, or about how proud I felt today when she was able to read the note I put in her lunch box this morning.

I could write about the Jones’ journey down under. I could tell the world about how great it felt to hug one of my oldest friends. How comforting it was to have home come to me.

But, I need to, for once, write down a feeling that is not light. It isn’t funny. It is almost as if  I can’t bring myself to blog again until I face the wave that is coming for me.  I don’t want to fight the rip,

My family has been eternally altered. With the passing of my cousin Kyle, the shape of us has changed.  Learning of his death brought a sharp pain.  It was an accident, a surprise.  A survivor and casualty of war. We don’t realize what balance a family has until a weight is lifted from one side of the scale. How important and valuable we each are…

My Uncle Gordy left the earth  shortly after Kyle’s departure. The man who taught me the importance of using a wooden spoon when making a sauce, the one who lectured me endlessly about the power of poetry and exercising the mind. Then man who loved family with an unsurpassed passion. With his passing, he passed a torch to a new generation of matriarchs and patriarchs. Leslie, Kenny, Nancy, and my Momma, Carolee.

I feel a strange guilt not throwing in a story about me humiliating myself publicly, but I just knew I couldn’t continue this blogging nonsense until I had said their names.

I love you Kyle Marshall Farr.

I love you Gordon Lee Creighton.