The Space/Time Continuum

There's a great line in "Close Encounters of The Third Kind", where one of the scientists points skyward and says ..."Albert Einstein was probably one of them". I have to agree - and I'm not about to go into a Quantum Physics rant (though I'd love to! That kind of stuff totally rings my bells). But Professor Einsten made time and the fact that it doesn't make sense...well...make sense. If you care to jump into the subject and let your brain be swirled and agitated like a clothes in a washing machine, may come to see that the sensation of deja vu makes perfect scientific sense.

Case in point...Conan O'Brien, 1998. Discuss among yourselves.

...Gives me hope

What a week it's been.  I don't know what they put in the water down here, but the whole country should be drinking it.  I am once again humbled by kindness on a daily basis.

When I left LA, it was because my very ability to survive was in question.  I don't even want to consider what would have happened to me if I had gone back after Miss Lillian passed away.  That, like LA as I was crossing the desert, is now in my rear view mirror.  I had only hoped that by staying here, I would learn to breathe again.  That was all I wanted.  Such a simple biological act had become nearly impossible to do without panic; not a morning went by when I didn't cry in the shower.  Who knew I would learn to smile like a Texas beauty queen?  

I had turned into an angry, bitter, cynical uber-bitch and didn't even realize it.  Here in East Tennessee, it's a challenge to not greet everyone you encounter.  And it's uncomfortable for me, which is really sad.  I had perfected the art of scowling and not making eye contact; refusing to connect.  It appears that these folks are bound and determined to cure me of that.  Lucky me.

I have recently settled into my new gig as the assistant to a health care executive.  She is amazing - normal, kind...human.  And rather than be viewed with suspicion and held at an appraising distance as "Lynn's new assistant"; I have been so relentlessly welcomed by so many total strangers that my smile muscles are damned near paralyzed.  I'm talking about people coming over to my office just to introduce themselves, offer assistance should I need it, and then end with my favorite local expression:  "We're so glad to have ya!"  There's no such thing as sitting alone in the lunchroom.  If you're in it, you're part of the conversation whether you want to be or not.  

While watching the Golden Globes this past weekend, I kept waiting for the moment that I would feel a twinge of nostalgia for my former studio life...it never came.  This morning when I heard Cathy yell across her cubicle "Becky, did ya get those roosters yet?"  I just had to pinch myself to stop myself from smiling.  The conversation then drifted to the weather, and how cold it's been (7 degrees last Thursday morning) and how hard it's been to keep the pipes from freezing so that the cattle could get water.

This gives me hope.  I had come to view the rest of the world and my life through perpetually narrowed, angry eyes.  I had no idea that you could be content just to be content; but I'm bound and determined to learn.  

And speaking of hope...PostSecret.com is where I go to pray and meditate on Sunday mornings. To witness a bit of the collective consciousness of a weary and difficult world, and then send out a bit of healing light when I'm done...GivesMeHope.com is where I go to remind myself that it's working.  

Go and be renewed.  You'll smile like a Texas beauty queen.

 

Buttery Ass Funny

Nothing of major importance...I just love me some Triflin Toons and I had to share the love.

A seat at a table in the Gratitude Cafe

I am  surely old enough to be his mother...but Jason Mraz trips my triggers in a way that one might consider downrighty pervy.  Why?  It's simple...he's sexy without being creepy, spiritual in a way that resonates with me, smart as a whip, and most important...funny.  Funny always wins the day (see below... and there are plenty more where that came from).

 

We should all be chilling at a table at the Gratitude Cafe.  In fact, it's place we should be visiting weekly (if  not daily); and I don't mean Mr. Mraz's website either...  

I came across this very cool iPhone app:  the Gratitude Journal.  I really like the idea; all you have to do is  list 5 things you're thankful for, once per day.  I do this in my head every day just before I go to sleep, especially if I've had a bad or challenging day; but I like the idea of writing it down.  I believe that writing things down makes them so; gives the Universe the message that you're serious, that you want to be heard, and can kick start the process of making things manifest.  So...does my writing this mean that I get to have my wicked way with Mr. Mraz' partner in crime, Toca Rivera, should I encounter him?  Hmmmm....but I digress.

Below is just for a taste of his wordsmithing and vocal abilities...this one is full of humor...

and this is just lovely - and true.  Enjoy.

Turn the page...

Enough time has passed, a new year has begun, and I'm finally ready to close this chapter in the ever evolving book of my life. Mainly, this post is for the rest of the family members who were unable to be there; but it's also for friends who have listened to my harrowing/wacky Miss Lillian stories for years. This is the last one I have to tell. I'm ready to move on; ready to write new ones.

Unfortunately, the event was not recorded, and the sheer hilarity of Miss Lillian's funeral has not been preserved, but I think the eulogies below say quite a bit about her and how she was regarded by those who knew her. One of the many things I learned from her was that funerals could indeed be funny...it's all in the delivery.

ML and I were never close; we didn't have the kind of mother-daughter bond that I longed for, but I learned not to expect it, and that made the ride somewhat less jarring. You can't miss what you didn't have. But if I were writing the screenplay of our story, in terms of sheer character development...she's a veritable goldmine, so I have that to be thankful for.

And thanks Mom, for bringing me home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eulogy for Miss Lillian by MHR

September 11, 2009

As men, we are all equal in the presence of death. - Publilius Syrus

When I started thinking about all the things that I could say about my mother, I realized that I had a lot to wade through. But the word that kept coming back to me over and over again was “character”. Not character as in: that thing that makes each of us unique, that defines who we are. No, I meant character as in: "my mother was a..."

And she was such a character. A master storyteller. A woman of infinite mystery. She kept the details of her life very carefully guarded, and many of you here know her better than I ever will. If you have anything you want to share, any insight you'd like to give...I'd really appreciate it.

My mother believed in maintaining connections with people, and in her own unusual and intense way, she cultivated her relationships. I’m so pleased to see those relationships represented here. I can tell you that she is pleased as well.

*****

If you look up the word "diva" in the dictionary, right next to that picture of Mariah Carey – you'll find a picture of Lillian Ryan. They both shared a love of drama, of an adoring audience… and a near psychotic need for bendy straws. I think my mother would be pleased to know that she’s been giving the ultimate Diva a run for her money.

When I was going through her belongings, I found a poem that she had written many years ago, called “Things I Have Taught My Children.” Well, let me tell you about the things that I learned from my mother.

First and foremost, she taught me to love Shakespeare, which turned into a lifelong love affair with the power and rhythm of words. For that I am forever grateful.

She taught me that if you look at it in just the right way…pretty much anything can be funny. That has gotten me into trouble more times than I can count. It still does.

She planted the seed for my love of comparative religions and methods of worship, by exposing us to as many as were available to us in our area. She showed by example that it doesn’t so much matter how you seek your higher power – what is critical is that you do.

She taught me that you get what you give.

And in these last few months she taught me about selflessness, compassion, and the healing power of forgiveness. Those things are far easier than we think they are, and it feels really good to carry them around in your heart.

I know that my mother walked a hard road for most of her life; some of it by circumstance; a good deal of it was self-imposed. But I also know that her current road is one paved with unconditional love and grace; and I know that it feels good to her. It's about time.

Thank you for coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

…On Being Aunt Lillian

By Evelyn Debro

September 11, 2009

This week Aunt Lillian has dominated my thoughts. My earliest memories of her are of thinking she was beautiful and rich. I thought she was rich because she didn’t work and she came in several times a year and stayed as long as she wanted to. I remember receiving a box of clothes before school started; at least twice. Thelma and I called it our “care package.”

One summer she took Thelma and me to Akron for the summer; but when we learned that Margaret was born, we didn’t want to stay any longer. Aunt Lillian and Uncle Sam weren’t coming back until the end of the summer; but we were so unhappy she explored her options and the only way we could travel alone was by plane. In 1952 there were very few people flying in this area – and definitely no black children flying alone. But Thelma and I did.

Thanks to Aunt Lillian, we were treated like celebrities. We were allowed to go into the cockpit and sit in the co-pilot’s seat. We were given wings and certificates, and nicknames: Mamie and Flamie. Aunt Lillian was like the Pied Piper, collecting children wherever she went until she had children of her own.

*****

Aunt Lillian always tested your love for her. She pushed you to your limits and beyond, and if you did come back…you loved her; and she kept testing us until the very end.

She was a very intelligent and crafty person. She was the first black person in Lebanon to graduate from high school. The black school in town only had a junior high…and she demanded more. She was informed by the school board that there was no money to send her go boarding school in Christiansburg. She informed them that was ok... because she’d just attend Lebanon High on Monday, but by Sunday funds were found to send her to Christiansburg where she graduated.

Her Daddy – my Granddaddy Charlie – was very political and passed his passion to all his children. All 5 boys were named for politicians. Aunt Lillian was always involved in politics, running for office or fighting for some cause. When she was working here before her marriage, she was a member of the NAACP when it was first organized.

When her eyesight was failing to the point that she could no longer read, she found a way to cope. Since she never trusted anyone completely, she would call us to come at different times and each of us had to read the same mail. That way, if you lied, she would know. She even signed her own checks until the last two months.

I would rather be hunted by the FBI and the CIA than Aunt Lillian. She found out whatever she needed to know, long before the internet. If she had looked for Bin-Laden, she would have found him.

Aunt Lillian had a friend in Jack Ashby, who called her daily to read the Akron Beacon Journal to her. And Mr. Newby, who had known her since her 20’s, said she stopped traffic when she walked down the street.

Mrs. Annie Ruth Gillespie was her dearest friend in Johnson City. At Aunt Lillian’s 80th birthday party, she was still living in Ohio, but her party was in Lebanon. Mrs. Annie Ruth said they had been friends for 60 years. We all laughed knowing that would change when she moved here.

She was always the Devil’s Advocate. If you were a Democrat, she was a Republican – and vice versa. She lived to debate you, and if you didn’t argue with her, she didn’t respect you. She talked to us, and knew us until two days before she died, and before she left she told us all that she loved us.

She always quoted the last stanza of this poem by William Cullen Bryant –

“Thanatopsis”

“So live that when thy summons comes to join

That innumerable caravan that moves

To that mysterious realm, where each shall take

His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.”