Spaghetti Squash!

My new favorite thing.

If you're confused about it, like I was, here's what you do.

Chop off the top. I made 2 smaller ones today since they both fit on my sheet.

Cut in half the long way.  

Clean out the seeds and the stringy bits. It's just like a pumpkin.

Rub olive oil on the inside and edges. 

Turn them upside down on a foil lined cookie sheet. 

Bake at 375 for 30-45 min. depending on the size. 

Shred the inside with a fork, it should be very tender and easy. Toss the outside rind. 

Add sauce or veggies or whatever you would make with rice or pasta.

It's delightful, I promise!

The Good and the Bad: Being with Grandma at the End.

 

My grandma Doris Johnson died on July 19th, 2017 just a couple weeks after her birthday. She was not well for several years and a little so-so for years before that. She had diabetes; most of her problems stemmed from that and just getting older.

A couple years ago she lost some of the toes on one of her feet. She had to be in the nursing home until she was able to "learn" how to walk again without those little guys. That's the first place her and Jason met. It was quite the exciting day for the Sterling nursing home, I'm sure. Folks walked by her door in waves ready to look in and see the bizarre sights in Doris's room. She, of course, didn't say a word about anything that might have seemed unusual to her.

I had called her earlier to let her know we were coming. I said "he's got tattoos on his face grandma, just so you're prepared." She says "oh alright, well I'll see you when you get here."

Jason never knew her when she was big and strong and her hair was still dark. Granted, she was still 5'8 (technically, not that she could stand up that tall) when she died and still had lots of her dark hair left.

*Meanwhile, I already have white hair. :(*

I had gotten used to her stooped skinnier body and less squishy hugs. Otherwise she was always the same. She sure wanted to be at home though she wouldn't really have been doing much different if she was there. Grandpa had taken over dishes duty I think. My aunts, I assume, helped out with some of the other chores.

We'd gone to visit grandma several times in various hospital rooms in the last year. Jason patiently sat with us as we chatted about what everyone was up to or who had come to visit. She got a little more forgetful as time went on but just barely.

At the time that she made the decision to stop her dialysis treatments, she was fully capable of making that decision. I doubt there was much argument from the family. They're not arguers, for one thing, but also aren't big on extraordinary measures. She was already labeled as DNR so it's not a surprise that this is what she decided. I hadn't considered that it was an option so it was still a little unexpected.

We knew that her time would be limited from that point. I visited her the next day or so and she was doing alright. When you ask her how she's doing she always says "hanging in there..." No doom and gloom for her. In the next couple days she was moved to hospice at Eben Ezer. This was much closer to home and she knew more people there. The first night we stopped to visit we knew we were in the right place since my California auntie (who I was mistaken for a couple times, as well as mistaken for her daughter...it's understandable if my dad's not standing next to me) was in the parking lot. They showed us where the room was and hung out a little while. It was getting late but grandpa was still there by her side. She was obviously doing not quite as well as she had been the week before but she still knew we were there and could chat.

We went back every day and sat with her. It was the popular place to be. Her friends, neighbors, pastor, family, they were all in and out all day. She had a big window to look out and see the trees and squirrels. Grandpa had a special chair to sit in where he could lift himself up to help getting out of the chair. It was nothing fancy but it had everything she needed. (Coulda used some extra A/C but she didn't seem to mind.) We'd take turns in the chairs and the aunts rotated who helped at meal times.

Before we left on our last day grandpa came in just in time to help her with her lunch.

I had never considered that some day I'd watch my grandpa helping to feed his wife, wiping off her face, giving her tiny bites that she could manage. He helped her with her oxygen which she was constantly fussing with. He sat next to her and held her hand as she half-napped. At one point she started to fall asleep and her hand started to fall. She thought it was him moving. She woke up and asked if he was going somewhere. He said "no, are you?" She kinda laughed and said "no, I don't think so." I remember her saying "you better stay close." I'll probably always wonder if she said that knowing she wasn't going to be there for long or if she just didn't want him wandering off.

She kept asking him about the "smallest person in the room." We couldn't really tell what she was referring to. I said "well grandma I'm the shortest one in the room but not the smallest." She laughed and said "no, you're not small." Never did figure out what she was talking about. Also never found out why several times she reached up in to the air like she was grabbing something but there wasn't anything there. I'd suspect she saw some stuff that we did not.

After lunch I sat by her and told her we would be going soon because I was trying to get back to work for an interview. She just said "alright" in her grandma tone. I say it a lot in a similar tone. I can't tell if I was doing it before and didn't notice or if I started doing it more after that because she said it so much. She repeated it a lot since she'd drift in and out of conversations but she was still listening.

I held her hand. I couldn't really give her hugs anymore so I'd hold her hand instead. I was always worried about bumping something that might hurt her.

I told her I loved her and we'd be seeing her. She said "alright."

Later that evening she was gone. They said she would just fall asleep and it wouldn't be painful. I guess that's probably what happened. 

In the last couple weeks of her life she'd seen all of her children and grandchildren. She'd seen many of her lifelong friends. She'd talked to friends who were far away. She got cards, flowers, and prayers. She was fidgety and probably uncomfortable but not in much pain. She got to celebrate one last birthday. For her, I don't think she would have asked for anything more, under the circumstances.

I'm immensely grateful that I was able to visit her and still be able to talk to her even in her last hours. I would trade a whole lot to have had that with my other grandma. I was one of 6 pallbearers at her funeral, I was glad to be with her to the end.

She was devoted to her small church in her small town and never would have guessed how full it would be with people there to send her off. In fact, she probably would have thought it was silly to have so much fuss over her but she would have said "whatever works."

 

Lunchtime Theory: Money, Art, and Fire

I brought this up with my husband recently and since I was thinking about this for a few days I thought I'd get the words down.

There are 3 things we hold up as pretty darn important: (In general, as average human beings.)
Our happiness.
Our passions.
Our stability (most often via economic success in some sort.)

My theory on this is that very few people ever find all 3 in equal amounts.* I'm not saying it's good or bad, just that most people are leaning more toward 1 or 2 and away from another.
(*This depends on their methods of operation.)

The equations are like so-
If you're happy and work doing something you're passionate about, there's a good chance you don't make a bunch of money.
If you work for decent profit doing something you're passionate about, there's a good chance it doesn't make you as happy after a while.
If you're economically successful and happy, there's a good chance your passions and causes are less of a factor than they once were.

Yeah, I'm sure there's some guy out there who is sitting on his yacht full of joy about his Google stocks cash that he uses to feed stray cats or whatever but I'm talking about the rest of us.

This is particularly relevant to creative people. It's hard to just DO what you want when you also want to try to make a living at it.

If you want to be a economically successful artist (at least in the beginning) then you're probably going to have to be doing work on someone else's passions.

BUT. If you do what makes you happy and what relates to what you feel is the most important EVENTUALLY someone else will come along with some cash and say "hey! I also find this important and awesome! Take my money!" It's the side door to artistic success rather than coming up the front walk hoping that people feel your vibe.

Other people have different theories.
Some say don't get into a job involving something you love because it'll become corrupted and you'll end up hating it.
Some go with the "if you build it, they will come" plan. Risky, but I'm sure it works sometimes.
Some people find enough happiness in the non-passionate parts of life that they can make up for it.
Some simply just take the chance, do what they want, and if they make the money then it's great and if they don't then they're still happy.

It's not all about money though. People hold economic success at different levels of importance. It shouldn't be the same for anybody.
Income and/or affluence (lots of affluent people don't have normal "income" but have plenty of money) is problematic because it's wrapped around how society sees us, how we feel about ourselves, how healthy we are, how educated we are, how available we are, how free we are.

Think about how you react when someone cuts you off in traffic.
New BMW..."what a jerk!"
Junker rust bucket..."idiot!"
Soccer mom van..."pay attention!"
Same car as me..."grrr...oh look, same as me!"

There's so many layers here but I'll just tackle a couple. I'm also doing some grand generalizing. I know.
We see a nice car and assume the person in it doesn't really care about the rest of us.
We see a crappy car and assume the person in it is not too bright.
When we see a car similar to ours, or one we like, we want to form an alliance with them against all other dumb cars that are in our way.
We make assumptions based on this stuff all the time. It's lame but we do it.

There is a comfort level when things are similar to our realm of understanding. Somehow there is this expectation that others understand as we understand. There's also people who fall into the opposite belief that nobody understands them and nobody is like them. Neither of these is true or false. Isn't it a fun existence?

The point here is that if you are driven to create then you MUST create for yourself. If someone is paying you then it is not for you and you're not digging up what you really want to produce. Not at first.
If you want to make money, and you are attached to the creation part and not the outcome part, then give your skills to others and hopefully it equates to happiness. #Win
If someone sees enough of YOU and they see that sameness and understanding then they want to give you money to create for yourself because they understand that you represent them as well.

This is not to say that creating for yourself is always fun. It sucks. People feel like they can comment. On you. On what you created. People know that you don't go visit your friend with the new baby and say "oh wow...he's not going to be attractive." Nope. They cherish the spawn they have created and you appreciate that by not being a jerk for no reason.

Who do you know that likes every part of you? Not even your mama and daddy like every part of you. If you stood yourself in the corner of a gallery would someone come over and tell you that your pants are stupid? Probably not. They'll do it to art though. The art is the artist. The artist is the parent.
Basically...where do you get off saying what you like or don't like? You don't need to like it.
I don't like all your kids. Doesn't mean they aren't your most cherished creations that will hopefully be functional members of society who serve a purpose.

This relates to my life because I try to encourage my artist husband to do what makes him happy rather than what will be profitable. (Or at least I advise to separate the two.) He'd be pleased to make a living off of art. It's difficult. Not that he's known for taking the easy way in life but even so I try to sometimes make things easier in life when I can. If he was delighted to create a 9 foot tall sculpture out of soup cans in our yard, I'd say do it. Cans are pretty cheap.

People feel completely ok telling him if they don't like his art. My desire to make life easier for him in that situation is to start that person on fire. But that would make everything worse so I don't.
I don't know if people have the idea that he won't care because he looks like a badass or what. He cares but it's also part of the art package. Everyone is a critic. Don't even GET me started on the number of tattoo experts on the planet.

Why do we tell our kids that their unidentifiable creature on the fridge is amazing and tell adults that something they put their heart into isn't? Constructive critique is a different matter for an artist but I'm talking just regular random interaction here. We are both pretty harsh "modern art" critics but that's because it's not about the end result. It's about the PROCESS. Modern art is completely pointless unless you know who did it, in my opinion. If you don't know the meaning then you're just looking at nothing. It all has some hidden code or whatever. Once you know what the point is then maybe it's amazing. Maaaaybe it's still a swoosh and a dot but then at least you know why?

One moral of this I guess is: treat people like human beings regardless of how they look, specifically ones I'm married to or otherwise fond of, or I'll hate you and visualize you on fire.

I could say a whole bunch in relation to this stuff but it'd turn into a book and I have a meeting in a little while. Plus, there would probably be outrage and swearing and TMI.

In conclusion, if you don't love my husband and his art, that's ok. I know he'd paint in his own blood if he thought you'd appreciate it. I know how he feels about his art and how much he puts into it. He puts more effort into pleasing people with his work than I generally even consider doing. If that's not what's relevant to you then fuck off and watch out if you see me with marshmallows.

Alternate Realities

Driving home today I suddenly was thinking about what I would be in some alternate reality. You know, the me with a goatee. The you that's you-ish but different.

I guess there's levels, like pond ripples. The closest ripple is the nearest to the known reality. The far ripple is the way out there idea.

In the close ripple, I'm an engineer of some sort. I like taking things apart. I'm decent at putting things together. I problem solve. I'm no mathematician, which is part of the reason I'm not an engineer in the first place. I would have done very different things in life if math was easy.

Maybe a scientist. It's similar to engineer (probably crosses over a lot in some areas) but kind of from a different end. I ask all the dumb questions which, it seems to me, a good scientist has to do. They have to look at the obvious things and the not at all obvious things and figure out what fits. We live on a crazy planet where weird stuff has properties that effect other weird stuff. Like, who first ate something that made them think "hmm...this made me poop extra! I should tell the people I know who need to poop more that they should try this!" And then later we have drugs for that. It's all a puzzle and the trick is figuring out how to put it together without LOTS of the pieces.
I always liked science in school but I never did great because I'm not awesome with those kinds of details. I just want to see it and do it. I don't want to memorize it.

Stunt or monster truck driver. I have a heavy amount of faith in me and my car as a set. I'm a good driver and I'm not against crushing things. Can you not see it? I can. Big pink sparkly truck that shoots flames...

Perhaps if I was a boy I would have followed my father or grandfather. Building things, fixing things. If one can't build it and the other can't fix it, well then just burn it down. I don't have the patience for it, really. Dad makes awesome things. It's all very logical. My mother's SQUIRREL gene is stronger than my dad's building gene. He could build you a banquet table in his sleep. I couldn't even draw you one because I'd get bored with it.

Operatic screaming metal singer. Because. It's hard to scream-sing so much. They don't get enough credit for that. You have to have that talent in you.

Possibly a drag queen. I'd be fabulous. Magenta Sparkle and Her Merry Men.

What about you?