Inventory

My upstairs neighbor at the apartment I lived in until August in Los Angeles was a big help in many ways, one of which was offering me occasional work to help out with his business. He's an insurance adjuster and spent a lot of time in Florida in the aftermath of all the hurricanes (and would let us use his laundry and HDTV with cable in the meantime, this is after GIVING us his old big screen TV when he got the HD). In the wake of all the fires in California, business is booming again for him, and he asked if I could do some remote work for him for some holiday spending money.

So my task is to get information off of these charts that measure the value of items lost in the fires--item, quantity, date acquired, and cost. It's the most mind-boggling process to enter someone's worldly possessions into an Excel data sheet. 6 belts, purchased 2001, $60. It gives new meaning to the way I am when someone compliments me on an outfit and I say, "Hey, thanks, I got it at Target for $10!" I've noticed before in these instances that I could probably calculate the value of my wardrobe, because I DO remember how much I've spent on just about everything. Maybe not as much anymore, but really, isn't it a value in our culture to get a bargain? Isn't every penny-pinching college grad conscious about how much we spend? Maybe it's so we can literally know our value. Imagine having to assign a cost to every possession in your living space, from the adhesive hooks that held up your dish towels to your computer and antique jewelry and, in my case, multiple musical instruments. You can kind of tell, too, what these people value by what items were most valuable. They listed no electronics--no TV or DVD player--did they just not have one? Are they listed on a sheet I haven't gotten to yet? They had $600 worth of sheets but little jewelry, a different value set from what I was raised with (basically I'm completely judging these anonymous, traumatized people who've lost everything by how they fill out a form).

But as I continue to enter these mindless numbers, I realize, too, that each item is an item of loss. These belts, these bed sheets, the wicker chair--it's all something that once existed that no longer does. I can't imagine what it would be like to calculate devestating loss item by item. Could I even remember all my possessions? It gives new meaning to the activity of hypothetically grabbing 3 or 5 things before your house burns down. If only assigning the losses to our hearts were so simple....unless, of course, you count the cost of therapy to recover from these losses. Ha! If only it were that measurable. Being called names in elementary school: $250. Losing Spot, the family pet, in a drive by: Cost for animal lovers--$450, for non-animal lovers $50. Having your heart broken: $1000. Losing your mom before you're 30: $5000. But the losses to our hearts and souls can't be measured, hard as we try, and I'm sure that, just like our material possessions, we have no idea the extent of what we've really lost. But we wouldn't want to be able to get rid of all the pain and get new experiences with a check from the insurance company. That cost would be far too cheap.

Maybe I've come across an idea for a new Master Card commercial.

And it continues....

The nostalgia, that is. I'm sitting in a coffeeshop/deli (Amer's for those of you who would appreciate) where I would meet friends and study for 8 wonderful years. They're playing music that I received as a birthday gift freshman year just down the street in the dorm. I just finished a sandwich that made me the happiest girl in the world. I haven't been able to find anything like this place in Los Angeles, except for maybe The Coffee Table in Eagle Rock.

My heart is full today. Thanksgiving was hard at first. I slept in and came downstairs and mom wasn't cooking in the kitchen, and it really didn't seem like Thanksgiving, or that anything really could make it seem like Thanksgiving. But we went over to a family friend's house and it seemed more festive. It ended up being a pleasant day. The pre-meal prayer was my favorite, "God, I haven't talked to you in awhile, but here we are. I have to say that I'm jealous of Barb, because she gets to be with you now. But thank you..." and the thankfulness commenced--for healing from his own bout with cancer and for family and friends and so many other things. I got to speak with my many families--my best friend's family in Michigan who I spent 3 Thanksgivings with through the years, LA friends who were all celebrating an "orphan" Thanksgiving together passed me around. A friend and I hung out later in the evening, looking through high school yearbooks to prepare for our 10-year reunion the next evening.

One of my favorite parts of the weekend was my dad's involvement in my finding an outfit for the reunion. I had gone shopping all day on Wednesday in search of something pretty and comfortable to wear, and just got overwhelmed by the plethora of options at the mall--really, how many different things can you wear with black pants? I didn't find anything, which meant I would have to wear something I had or go shopping on the day after Thanksgiving--God help me. When I came downstairs on Thanksgiving Day, my dad greeted me then said, "Well, I set aside all the ads for places where dresses or winter coats were on sale, so you can take a look at those." And a little later he chimed in, "Really what you need is a little black dress with a scoop neck, maybe with some scalloping on the edge. If you wear that with a strand of pearls, it would look just great." My dad the fashionista! He actually put thought into my outfit. I was really touched. And a little black dress is not something I've owned since high school, or early college, so an expansion of the wardrobe would have been helpful.

I had to work the day after Thanksgiving at 6:30am (I've been picking up some Starbucks shifts in St. Louis), so my dad offered to get up at 4am and go shopping with me to find something. So that's what we did. The crowds weren't too bad at Kohl's and I knew I had to leave with something or deal with something I already had. None of the little black dresses they had quite worked and after about three sweeps through the racks, I was feeling a little hopeless. But we found a nice sparkly sweater and a new pair of black dress boots, which I desperately needed. Dad was really great at helping me find something that would look good. And it was a special time for us--little did I know the fashion insights I'v been missing all these years. As we were walking into the parking lot, pleased with our purchases at 6am, my dad confided, "I really didn't like anything else you tried on, but I wasn't going to say anything. I'm glad we got what we did."

It wasn't until later that I realized that's probably something I would have done with my mom--she would have gotten up early. She would help me root through racks of clothes and approve or disapprove accordingly. So we have a new way of being that I think is harder on dad than he's letting on....

I had lunch with a high school friend who wasn't going to the reunion...we see each other once every couple of years, and it is always amazing, and this was no exception. The reunion was actually a blast. I'm one of those people that loved high school. I was excited to go the reunion and see people, even moreso people from elementary school. I went with a couple friends, and they were nervous to go. I wasn't really. The whole idea of being 28 or 29 and spending an evening with people you haven't seen in 10 years was certainly weird and surreal. It was awkward getting in the door, but soon the familiar faces began pouring in and hugs abounded. I didn't even get out of the front hallway for 2 hours, having one conversation after another until the wee hours of the morning. It was amazing what I remembered and what other people remembered about me. Some had heard about mom. Many had memories about her. The whole thing was beautiful. Seeing how people have found their niche or are still on the quest for it. Remembering my trip to Italy as a Latin student with others who had gone. Meeting people's spouses and hearing about children. It made me glad that I'm a person who can talk to anyone about anything for hours on end, because that was basically the evening, but truly, I have known some amazing people in my life, and I have been someone memorable to them, too.

Now I'm in Ann Arbor having gone to a friend's wedding last night with more old friends and more nostalgia and reminiscing. More familiar places and faces. Such good stuff, I'm bursting at the seams.

Nostalgia

On Friday afternoon I was driving to Illinois to see some friends. I didn't have a deadline for when to get there and was moseying through town. "Do I want to go see the hippos again?" I wondered as I approached Forest Park. I really am enamored with those hippos. But I'd just seen them and my other best friend was going to visit with her daughter and we might go see the hippos. It was a beautiful day, and a shame not to be outside in the balmy November midwestern weather. But rather than another trip to the zoo, I opted for a trip to the art museum (just down the street from the zoo) to visit paintings that I have viewed my whole life that I love--an artistic re-centering of sorts.

I wanted to see the gigantic portraits of a husband and wife that were meant to be displayed side by side as each portrait points to the other. A black and white rendering of horse and carriage by one of my favorites, Thomas Eakins. A huge Chuck Close painting that looks like a detailed photograph. Georgia O'Keefe. Monet's "Water Lilies." Van Gogh. It was a delightful couple of hours.

But I started thinking as I continued on my drive, how would I communicate to someone how these paintings make me feel--this melding of an 8-year-old girl discovering art for the first time in a summer workshop with an educated officianado analyzing form and composition with a broken-hearted mourner wanting to connect with emotions through an artistic medium. I began to ponder what was the essence of nostalgia. If I wanted someone else to feel what I feel, the same resonance in my chest, how would I evoke that from them? Does nostalgia feel the same for everyone? How does one evoke communal nostalgia, especially, just for kicks, in the realm of film? Through a soundtrack, perhaps. Songs that were popular when I was in high school tap into an emotional reserve that transports me back to that era in my life. I recently saw a film that took place in the 60's and the fashion and cars may evoke nostalgia in a viewer familiar with that era, but for the most part, nostalgia is an extremely individualistic experience.

I have recently been realizing that communicating insights and lessons that I learn is a vital driving force to me. Whenever I discover something, I immediately begin to navigate how to tell someone else. So part of me is saddened that there isn't a way to communicate nostalgia, the power of my memories. Part of me is glad for the power of remembering that is solely mine....that no one else's journey through the St. Louis Art Museum (or the art museum of their youth) could compare.

I'm swimming in nostalgia in the face of attending my 10-year class reunion from high school this Friday. I'm excited to catch up with people, but can't find a top to go with black pants to save my life. Malls and department stores are overwhelming, and eventually everything starts to look the same. Perhaps I'll wear an outfit from the past, just to be nostalgic.

There and back again

There being Phoenix, Arizona, to which my dad and I have been there and back. Tomorrow I'm going to Illinois and back for the second time in a week and on Saturday my best friend is coming to town (from Illinois, just for good measure) with her 6-week old daughter so that we can have more voices together to cheer the University of Michigan to a victory over The Ohio State University on Saturday in the big rivalry football game. So much geography. So little time.

In Arizona, my grandma was witty and funny. I got to see my roommate and we stayed up talking for hours and hours just like at home (you really miss someone when you're used to talking to them for an hour a day and then you don't see them for a few weeks!). And I got to see my adored great Uncle Neal and great Aunt Mary. I was mistaken in my last post....Neal is 94, still drives (they have two 2007 vehicles), JUST got hearing aids, still passed his sharpshooter test for the volunteer police posse in his community which means he can PACK HEAT--like CARRY a GUN! He's 94!!!!!! And he knows everyone in town and they know him and he gives waitresses a hard time in a way that they love it. My Aunt Mary will be 89 on Christmas Eve and does beautiful china painting and makes jewelry. They live in a retirement community where you must be 55 or older to own property, so they've stayed young by being around active old people. And they've been married 66 years. When remarking on this to Aunt Mary, she said, "You know, it really doesn't seem like it's been that long." They are amazing and I'm related to them.

Today was Old Newsboys Day, which is a St. Louis tradition of over 50 years. The Old Newsboys organization makes one paper a year and volunteers stand on streetcorners and sell the papers for a donation to St. Louis children's charities. For as long as I can remember, my mom has sold papers at the end of our subdivision. Before I was in school, I would go in the mornings and help her and we would make a thermos of hot chocolate and bundle up and bring blankets. Everyone knows about Old Newsboys, unless, of course, you're new to town, and then I'm sure it's absolutely befuddling. And frankly, St. Louis is so elitist and traditional, in that many who grow up here stay here and so we expect that everyone know our traditions.

Back in July, the letter came from Old Newsboys asking for volunteers. Mom turned to Dad and asked, "Will you do this for me this year?" He said he would and they both started crying. So dad and I did it together this morning. Many drove by expressing their condolences. We notified others when they asked where mom was. One lady, not knowing us personally asked, "Are there new people at this spot this year?" Mom was an Old Newsboys icon in our neighborhood. More than a few tears were shed as people pulled up. I saw neighborhood moms and dads I haven't seen in years. It was a really beautiful morning. Dad already has an expansion planned for next year that we take over the subdivision next to ours, which means, I guess I'm coming back.

Clarification point: I think I confused a lot of people into thinking that when I left LA I wasn't returning....I was always planning on going back and just being in St. Louis temporarily. So I'll be in St. Louis until about December 4th when I'll go to LA. I'll leave LA for St. Louis on the 17th, making it back in time for another annual Scharnhorst tradition--Christmas caroling. I'll be back in LA for good sometime in January.
For my Michigan friends--I'll be in Ann Arbor from the 24th to the 28th of November--yippee! Many places to go there and back.

Farm cousins

I've been under the weather for nearly a week, hence the lack of energy and motivation (and anything eventful in my life) to post. I have decided, though, that I'd like to find a use for the term "above the weather" or "over the weather." I came down with a cold the day after the Memorial Service and Sunday brunch were over with. My brother and sister-in-law and niece left on Thursday and my dad and I headed to Quincy, IL--his hometown--on Friday evening to attend the wedding of my cousin.

Now technically he's my second cousin or first cousin once removed or something like that--the groom's dad and my dad are first cousins. And this particular set of cousins are what I affectionately refer to as my "farm cousins." The cousins in my generation literally still work the family farm, which I happen to think is the coolest thing in the world. I have fond memories of going to the farm. It's where I drove a huge tractor through the fields by myself (and the only time to this day when I drove a vehicle with a clutch). Once when I was about 8 years old, I stayed for a week and picked up the accent. Memories of the farm are full of summertime ball games, animals of all kinds, and getting really dirty. It was always different from what I was used to as a born-and-bred city/suburban girl. But I loved it.

The wedding was in the small Catholic church that my grandma grew up attending. Beforehand, we drove by the old farmhouse where my grandma had been born. We drove through Bentley, IL, a "suburb" of the county seat of Carthage, IL, population 2800, and my grandma showed us where the grocery store had been, and a restaurant. Now they are just the back yards of other houses. Grandma showed us her old schoolhouse--an amazing two-story structure that is remarkably still standing after years of obvious neglect. My grandma has never spoken fondly of her childhood--it was hard growing up on the farm during the Depression, and she had to work hard, was embarrassed to wear her older sister's too-big shoes. So this was a lighter-hearted version of those early days--and an insight into my own roots. Had I been born into the farm cousins rather than to the cousin with the PhD (my dad), my life would have been quite different, though really, of us all, the farm cousins are my favorite--the most sociable and friendly--the ones you know could blend in anywhere, even though they rarely venture far from their unlocked front door.

The wedding was beautiful, and many shared fond memories of mom. The groom actually lost his mom to cancer (his younger sister helped care for her in her last days), so it was very touching to see how they honored her with my own loss being so close. The unity candle is always a hard part for me--who will light my unity candle? One friend advised, "The unity candle is stupid. You don't even have to do it." True. We'll see....there's definitely plenty of time to figure that out. But the pang of mom's absence was closer this weekend. I would have been sitting next to her, sharing silly comments and laughing, linking arms with her in the cold wind...

Tomorrow my dad and I take my Grandma to Arizona where she winters (when it's a verb and not a noun). We'll meet up with my LA roommate there, which will be great. She'll get to meet Uncle Neal and Aunt Mary--my great uncle and aunt who are 93 and 88 and have been married 64 years. What a pair! Apparently, Uncle Neal saved a barn in Bentley, IL from burning to the ground and it stands to this day--we saw it with our own eyes. Can't wait to hear that story.

The Memorial

Today was a busy, but beautiful day. My brother joked this morning, "Anyone else feel like putting this off another few days?" Um, yeah. But really, the anticipation was far worse than the actual process. It was a beautiful day full of amazing people--friends of old and new and every one of them telling me how much I look like my mom. I ended up speaking, as did my dad. We had a wonderful meal prepared by some women from the church downstairs afterward, two of whom were moms of kids I grew up in Sunday school with.

Then afterward a bunch of people came over to the house. Good times. Good friends. But mom wasn't here, and that was clear. She was missed. I'll try to post as much of what I can remember of what I said soon. For now, I'm going to collapse.

Visitors

This week my best friend visited with her daughter for a few days, which was fantastic. We celebrated my birthday (29 on the 29th!), went to the zoo and watched the hippos and a baby elephant. I'm a new fan of the hippopotamus, and appreciate the fullness of the name hippopotamus. Just say it, "Hippopotamus." Watching these beasts swim makes me glad they don't always have to walk. Whoa. The comfort of an familiar friend and the joy of a little one were just the trick (and treat) this week.

My brother and sister-in-law and niece arrived today and will be here for a week. Sitting around the house this afternoon, watching my niece walk for the first time, it hit me that mom was missing. We are in this new phase of family--the grown up phase--we've entered the next generation and the floor we used to crawl around on is now where my niece plods and crawls. And mom is going to miss it. And we're going to miss her.

We're having a memorial service on Saturday at the church I grew up in. My dad is going to try to say something, and I think I will, too. I remember someone telling me once that you don't get too many chances to honor people publicly, and so I want to do that. And I think that I, more than any other human being, bear my mom's image--not only physically, but my laugh, my outgoing personality and sense of humor. So much of her is in me. People did say she was the most organized person they ever knew, though, and I know no one will deem me THAT.

But there's been a lot of planning and a lot of debating and discussing about planning. We'll have people over Saturday night and Sunday for a brunch that the neighbors and friends will make. Today we got cards from neighbors from a LONG time ago....one of them has a daughter who used to babysit my brother and me. Don't even know how these people found out. So much love, though. Such a life that was lived.