Blog Archives

Farm Cacophony

10/25/2016

Many people think that farm life is so peaceful and quiet, but to me, it's noisy. I don't think it's because I have exceptional hearing, but rather because I have an exceptional sensitivity to sounds. So just for fun, I tried to capture some of the animals sounds on the farm. The goats, chickens, cats, and wild birds were cooperative, but the cow steadfastly refused to make any noise except for some sniffing.

(I should point out that he's not really a cow, per se. He's a castrated male Holstein 9 month old calf that we're raising for meat for the freezer. It's just easier to say cow. We raise one like him every year. Because he's a dairy breed, we won't get the same yield as a beef breed, but for us, it's a good way to feed a large family.)

Enjoy the noise!

And now for something completely different, a very old and very silly cartoon just in time for Halloween.

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Another anniversary

10/18/2016

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It never gets easier. For some wounds, time is most definitely not a healer. In fact, time is often a cruel master.

Yesterday was the fourth anniversary of the death of Maxwell Dennis Romeo, my son.

Four years ago, I was sitting at my kitchen table wondering how I was ever going to sleep again and more importantly, what now? How do you plan for the funeral of your child? Where do you even begin?

So I drank a lot of the very fine bourbon that a friend had smuggled into the ICU of Akron General earlier in the day where I was keeping vigil. We both had assumed I would be spending long days there while Max recovered from his very extensive injuries and the bourbon was a gift to help ease the nights there.

We were so very wrong about that.

"Hurry up!" I hollered from the kitchen before he left for school on the day of the accident. Not "Goodbye." Not "I love you!"

The next time I saw him he was unconscious and trapped in the twisted metal of his car.

I went to class yesterday because I had a quiz. I had thought about emailing my professor to explain why I wouldn't be in class that day (aka, revealing my tragic backstory), but I eventually nixed that idea largely because the syllabus provides no make-up options for quizzes.

After the quiz, I went outside to cry, which smudged my makeup. I subsequently spent a considerable amount of time trying to convince myself to go back into the classroom for the lecture and lab that followed. (Eventually I did.)

While I was outside, squatting against a brick wall and sobbing quietly, a small bird flew so close to me that I could feel it in my hair. It felt to me like the bird was acknowledging my pain. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was just a weird bird acting erratically.

Nevertheless, I like my version better.

Just when I thought I would never discover another new photo of Max -- I mean, it's been four years already -- yesterday I found two of them. Photographs are like gold to a grieving mom, so finding two in one day is like winning the lottery.

Natalie was home from Kentucky this weekend for fall break (aka the shittiest time of the year.) She was planning to leave on Sunday afternoon to go back to school for Monday classes, but we talked her out of it. She pulled the "dead brother" card in emails to her professors Sunday night and left for school yesterday around the same time that I did.

Next year, we need a better plan. This was the first time in four years that I actually had to be somewhere on the anniversary, and I guess I didn't really understand how woefully unprepared I was for it.

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Appalachia Day (with photos!)

10/11/2016

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This past weekend, I took a trip to eastern Kentucky with some of my favorite people for Alice Lloyd College's Appalachia Day. Like last year, I sold my handmade goat milk soap and Natalie sold her handmade jewelry, but mostly it was an excuse to visit my college girl. And of course, with the ever-looming anniversary of Maxwell's death, October could use a bright spot.

And now, commence with the poorly-framed and hastily snapped photos.

Would you like to watch a short video? Of course you do. This is a new song for the Voices of Appalachia, Natalie's college choir. It is based on a poem by James Stills, a former poet laureate of Kentucky, and composed for them by a friend of the choir director from Cornwall.

(The wind was wicked during their performance, and this is the first time they sang it for an audience. Given those constraints, I think it's still quite lovely.)

I arrived home on Sunday night to a large package. In it were two quilts that were lovingly and painstakingly created for me by my mom. I could describe them to you, but instead, I think I'll show you.

You're looking at Max's t-shirts. I am undone.

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October is gunning for me

10/4/2016

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We were in a van. Roger was driving, and I was in the front passenger seat. The three youngest kids were in the backseats. The street ahead was crowded with people, many of them armed with enormous guns with wide barrels. Roger turned right at the intersection, but took the turn too fast and -- through a slow-motion series of events that can only happen in a dream -- the van ended up completely upside down in the middle of the now deserted road.

I unbuckled from my seat and crawled to the back of the van to free the kids from their car seats and seatbelts. They were unhurt, and I felt such relief! But relief soon turned to worry; how were we going to get out of this mess (read: how are we going to pay for this?), and WHERE THE HECK WERE THE PEOPLE WHO CAN HELP US?

Then gunshots, so many gunshots. I lost count of how many as I scrambled to keep my kids flat on the floor of the van (which was actually the roof) to avoid being hit by a bullet. The entire van was filled with the very palpable presence of fear and anxiety.

Fortunately, because it was a dream, the people shooting at us had terrible aim and no one was hit.

What does it mean? Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Scientists are keenly interested in sleep research and what happens in the brain when we slumber. Meanwhile, armchair philosophers claim to be able to interpret dreams. I've never given any of it much thought other than waking up from a particularly weird or scary dream with a deep sense of relief or sometimes longing.

But here's my private theory: October arrived again, as it always does, and sucked the air out of the room. October means pain.

And now, apparently, October is gunning for me and a few more of my kids.

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Farm Cacophony

Another anniversary

Appalachia Day (with photos!)

October is gunning for me

Who's that?

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