Coda, Spot: Our Lady of Abundance

Label, “Our Lady of Abundance,” inside the lid of a reliquary box by Grace Gunning.
Detail, label, "Our Lady of Abundance," inside lid

Coda
1) An endnote, or final word, in which the author elucidates what has come before.
2) A few measures or a section added to the end of a piece of music to make a more effective ending.

This afternoon we picked up Spot’s ashes and brought them home.

She died three weeks ago. By the time we got her to the veterinary emergency room, she was already gone. In that emotional haze, we had to make a decision about what to do. We chose individual cremation. Three days ago, we got the call that her ashes were ready to be picked up.

John and I had discussed what container we might use for her ashes. We thought of a small, bronze triangular nested box inscribed with Celtic designs which we bought a couple of years ago. But we didn’t know how much … material the box would need to hold. I didn’t think it could be very much. Then I remembered we had the reliquary box. I bought it for John. He’d kept it first in his apartment, then we had it in our first apartment. We hadn’t found a place for it since we moved into our house three years ago, but I remembered seeing it recently inside one of the opened, still unpacked, moving boxes.

Reliquary box, "Our Lady of Abundance," Grace Gunning, 2000

Over the past three weeks, John and I have gone through the familiar phases and states of grieving. I told John last night that, over the past three days, the main feeling for me has been, “I want to bring her home.” I know that “she” is gone. There are layers to the emotional acceptance of that loss.

When I re-read my first diary entries about her, what’s remarkable is that her personality was so present in them. She was always affectionate. When I came home, she demanded my attention. But however hungry she was, she insisted that I first pick her up and “schmoosh” her. She would purr, deeply and resonantly. Then I could set her down and she could eat. That I was able to give a flea bath to a strange cat without her fighting me was all about her gentle, compliant, trusting nature. Even the vet would always remark how calm and cooperative she was.

The most difficult moments have not been the physical reminders of her: her toys, her brushes, her scratching post, her bowls, her litter box. Gradually, we’ve packed these up and put them away. The absences have been the hardest. When I leave the house, she doesn’t follow me downstairs, trying to sneak outside. When I come home, she doesn’t greet me at the top of the stairs. When I go to bed, she’s not there to “tuck me in.” She’s not there to paw my face in the morning and wake me up.

I peeled back some of the final layers of acceptance today. I called ahead before we drove over: “We’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to expect. Is there a bag? A box?” The woman I spoke with said there’s a bag inside a metal box. It was more thoughtfully elaborate than that.

There was a paper bag tied with a ribbon. Inside the bag was a condolence card and some promotional literature (not so thoughtful) from the pet cemetery where the cremation was done. Also inside, green tissue paper wrapped a small metal tin, something like what you might keep loose tea in. We had brought the reliquary box with us, but the tin’s size and shape wouldn’t fit inside. That’s as far as we explored it at the E.R.

Gardener’s corner in the backyard
Gardener's Corner

When we got home, I went and sat in the backyard. It was a sunny day, and it was still early enough in the afternoon that the house wasn’t yet shading the gardener’s corner. After parking the car, John came and sat beside me. Here I carefully opened the metal canister. Inside this, more green tissue paper wrapped the bag containing her ashes. John opened the lid of the box, and we placed the small, green package in its center. I remarked, “She always liked the sun.” We cried and held hands for a few minutes.

The reliquary lid didn’t quite fit over the little green package. When we got back inside, I took it out of the reliquary and started unwrapping the tissue paper. I wanted to reshape the bag to better fit inside the reliquary. I was also curious, and knew I needed, to see the ashes themselves. When I got to the last wrap, I got a glimpse, covered it back up, and held the package in both hands, tears running from my eyes. John asked, “What is it?” I said, “I don’t know what I was expecting.” Consciously, I was expecting my mental image of “ash”: gray and dusty, powdery. Instead, it was white, chalky, gritty with tiny fragments of bone. I wasn’t ready for that. Another time, I’ll be ready to unwrap that final layer. I wrapped it with some ivory cloth as a shroud and returned it to the box.

I appreciate all the comments, cards, and phone messages we’ve received. What I write now is not to diminish anyone else’s beliefs, nor the sentiments they’ve expressed. I don’t believe in anything. If there were a heaven, animals would be there. If there were angels, they would be animals. But I don’t believe in heaven, or angels, or gods, or any life other than the one I’m living.

Death is final. I knew that as Spot was dying in my arms. I knew that her limp tail – which had been so expressive of her presence and personality – meant she was already gone from us. I don’t know how much she was aware of at the very end, when we were driving her to the E.R., and I cradled her in my arms, and she cried out for the last time, and I lifted her up and turned her face to mine because she couldn’t do it herself. I hope my face was the last thing she saw, but I’ll never know. I know she was gone from us as the last breath left her body and her heart stopped beating beneath my fingers.

Despite my skepticism and disbelief, I have come to accept that spirituality and ritual are important to me. The box itself holds layers of memory and meaning which make it an appropriate resting place for Spot’s remains. I bought it six-and-a-half years ago, when John and I had not yet moved into our first apartment together. I was still living in my garden apartment on 5th Street in Park Slope, where Spot had found me. John and I were well underway in our adventure of exploring relationship with each other. Spot was there to nurture us on that journey.

John and Spot on the couch in the 5th Street apartment
John and Spot

On September 10, 2001, John and I went on vacation upstate. The next morning, from a distance, we watched our world change. For that week, we were ambassadors, representatives of New York City and all that had happened there. When we met people upstate and they learned where we were from, their faces and postures changed. Some were brought to tears. Like it or not, we carried a responsibility everywhere we went.

I think it was in Kingston where I found the box in a gift store. They had a couple of these reliquary boxes, and I wanted to buy John one. I bought some chimes there with him, then he went outside. When I saw that this one was titled “Our Lady of Abundance,” I knew this was the one. “Abundance” was a word we used deliberately and frequently at that time to try to describe the richness we felt in our lives, as well as the challenges we faced in accepting it.

The title of the box is stamped into the inside of the lid. It’s signed with a power tool on the underside.

Inside of upper lid

Today this box became a true reliquary, holding the relic of Spot, that time when we were learning to accept abundance into our life together, and the memories of that terrible week.

Related Posts

Spot, February 23
My Flickr photo sets of the box and Spot

Links

Grace Gunning, Copper Reliquary Boxes

Kensington Blogade

2008.03.17: Added more links to posts from other attendees.


The Kensington Blogade
Kensington Blogade

I’m overextended. Too many pokers in the fire. Wearing too many hats. No room for another pig in the sty. (I just made that one up. Blog Widow and I like pigs.)

It’s going to take me most of the week to catch up with my weekend. Saturday I attended Making Brooklyn Bloom at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. And I’m writing a post about that, really I am. But this post is about yesterday’s Kensington Blogade.

We pretty much filled the space at the Old Brick Cafe at 507 Church Avenue, between East 5th Street and Ocean Parkway in Kensington. This was the second-closest Blogade for me, about a 10 or 15 minute walk from my home. (The closest was the inaugural event.)

Kensington Blogade

I was glad to see several new-to-the-Blogade bloggers there. Most I had already met virtually, several were also neighbors. At least two were completely new to me.

Joyce Hanson of Bad Girl Blog organized yesterday’s event.
Joyce Hanson, Bad Girl Blog

Each host chooses if and how to structure the event. Joyce asked each of us attending to present something we had published on our blog.

DSC_9033

DSC_9042

DSC_9060

Brenda from Flatbush, Crazy Stable/A Year in Prospect Park

DSC_9086

Most were readings, but there were also two media presentations, on laptops setup on the bar. My laptop is a heavyweight, or I would have done the same with my photography.

DSC_9049

Tom Hart, HutchOwen

Related Posts

At yesterday’s Blogade, I read Barbara Corcoran Hates the Earth and Back in the Day.
My other Blogade posts
My Flickr photo set from yesterday

Links

Attending:
Blogade Review from the Laziest Girl in Town, Bad Girl Blog
Blue Barn Pictures
A Taste of the Blogade at Old Brick, Brooklynometry
Crazy Stable
Creative Times
Brooklyn Blogade last Sunday, Found in Brooklyn
HutchOwen
Story Time, Luna Park Gazette
Poking My Head Out, Midnight Cowgirls
Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn
Self-Absorbed Boomer
Kensington Blogade, Shellytown
Washington Square Park
Sheepish, A Year in Prospect Park

Cortelyou Crocuses!

This morning I took a slight detour from my commute routine to check the tree pits along Cortelyou Road for blooming Crocuses. I was rewarded:

Cortelyou Crocus

It may not look like much, but this is only one of the 400 Crocuses neighborhood volunteers planted last fall in some of the tree pits along Cortelyou Road between Coney Island Avenue and East 17th Street.

It also has a companion blooming in the same tree pit:

Cortelyou Crocus

Until the rest of them start blooming, if you’re not looking for them, you’ll probably overlook them. Here’s how they appear in situ as you walk by the tree pit:

Crocus blooming in a treepit on Cortelyou Road, Brooklyn
Crocus blooming in a treepit on Cortelyou Road, Brooklyn

The Crocuses have been up for a month; these are the first blooms. The Daffodils are also emerging in several of the tree pits.

Someone’s (or someones’) been doing a good job keeping the tree pit fairly clear of garbage. Nevertheless, you can identify several fragments of urban street detritus, including chewing gum, bits of plastic straw, and um, organic material.

This morning I didn’t see any bags of garbage in the tree pits themselves. When I see this, I try to stop and lift the bags out to place them on the outside of the protective fences. But for the past few days I’ve also seen a bike locked to the inside of the fence, right where the bulbs are coming up. I want to make up some signs to put along all the tree pits to remind folks:

LIVE PLANTS
NO TRASH
NO BIKES
NO DOGS

The bike locked up so it’s crushing the emerging bulbs deserves its own sign.

Over the next two weeks we should see a succession of different Crocus blooming. These yellow ones look like Crocus chrysanthus or something similar. Other may be purple, blue, or even white. I purchased “mixed” Crocus for this planting, so that’s what we should expect!

Related Posts

Cortelyou Road Crocus Watch, February 4
Tree Pits are not Dumpsters, November 18, 2007
The Daffodil Project Plantings on Cortelyou Road, November 4, 2007
1,000 Daffodils for Cortelyou Road, October 27, 2007
The Daffodil Project: Grief & Gardening #5, November 26, 2006

Links

The Daffodil Project

New Blog on the Block: lolAJ

lolAJ is my current favorite read. Described as:

new york city + stuff that is political? + wtf why is it so weird to be a transsexual

Race, class, politics, post-queer deconstruction, and lolcats. It cannot be described in mere words. It must be experienced.

And not a word about real estate.

total pwnage.


PS: Re: “And not a word about real estate.” No, not in the sense of Brownstoner’s buy/sell flamers and trolls. Yes, in the sense of racial, ethnic and class disparities and outright bias in land use policy and the economics of real estate.

Just so you have some idea of what to expect.

Weather Alert: Flood Watch Tonight and Tomorrow

Brooklyn Category 1-4 Coastal Storm Impact Zones. Yellow areas are most at risk from this storm, especially during high tide tomorrow morning.
Brooklyn Category 1-4 Coastal Storm Impact Zones

The National Weather Service has issued a flood watch which includes Brooklyn starting later tonight and continuing into tomorrow:

The National Weather Service has issued a Flood Watch beginning Tuesday, March 4, at midnight. The Watch is expected to stay in effect until Wednesday afternoon, March 5. Rainfall totals may reach 2.5 inches in New York City, with localized flooding possible, and minor coastal flooding likely at high tide on Wednesday morning.
NYC OEM email alert

New Yorkers should exercise caution, as heavy rain may knock down trees and power lines, and may create hazardous driving conditions. People should avoid walking or driving through moving water, as six inches of fast-moving water can knock people off their feet; two feet will cause most vehicles to float.

Links

NYC Office of Emergency Management:

This Sunday: The Kensington Blogade

This is a reminder that the next Brooklyn Blogade, our mostly monthly meetup of Brooklyn bloggers and community members, will be this Sunday, March 9, in Kensington. Joyce Hanson of Bad Girl Blog is hosting this month at Old Brick Cafe, 507 Church Avenue, between Ocean Parkway and E. 5th Street:

Time for “Show & Tell”: Bloggers are encouraged to be brave and give a reading from one of their best blog posts. Or bring along your laptop and a screen and show us your best pics. Or just tell us about your best post. Please plan to limit your presentation to about five minutes so everybody can have a turn.

RSVP by THIS THURSDAY. See Joyce’s Blogade post for details.

This Saturday: Green it! Grow it! Eat it! at BBG

Fountain and Palm House, Brooklyn Botanic Garden
Fountain and Palm House, BBG

On Saturday, March 8, from 10am to 4pm, the Brooklyn Botanic Garden hosts its annual Making Brooklyn Bloom, a FREE day-long series of speakers, workshops, films and resources. Presented by GreenBridge, BBG’s community horticulture program, this year’s theme is “Edible NYC: Eat it! Grow it! Eat it!”

The conference is free; admission to BBG is free with a conference flyer [PDF], which you can download and print from the Making Brooklyn Bloom page.

Register early at the Palm House for workshops. Workshops are held at 11am and 3pm and will include:

  • Extending the Season with Cold Frames, Barry Rogers, BBG; Garden Apprentice Program participants
  • Urban Soil Health, Testing, and Amendment, Uli Lorimer, BBG Native Flora Garden; Brooklyn-Queens Land Trust representatives
  • Edible Landscaping, Patrick Cullina, BBG vice president of Horticulture
  • Savoring Home-Grown Herbs all Year Round, Sandra McLean, Slow Food NYC
  • Grow it Anywhere in Windowboxes and Containers, Jennifer Williams, BBG gardener of Interior Displays
  • Community Composting Systems, Charlie Bayrer, Hollenback Garden; Amanda Hickman, Greene Acres Community Garden; Roy Arezzo, Carleton Avenue Brooklyn Bears Community Garden; Claudia Joseph, Garden of Union
  • Raising Chickens and Bees in the City, Owen Taylor, Just Food; Sarita Daftary, East New York Farms!
  • Best Vegetables and Fruits for Brooklyn, Gerard Lordahl, Council on the Environment of New York City
  • Brewing Compost Tea, Karla Osorio-Perez and Luke Halligan, BBG Brooklyn Compost Project
  • Canning to Preserve the Harvest, Classie Parker, Five Star Community Garden
  • The Sky’s the Limit: Growing Food on Trellises, Caleb Leech, BBG curator of the Herb Garden
  • Integrated Pest Management, Jackie Fazio, former BBG director of Horticulture
  • Seed Starting and Propagation, Solita Stephens, Olympus Garden Club
  • Fruit and Nut Trees in the City, Paul Glover and Phil Forsyth, Philly Orchard Project
  • Sustainable Watering Practices, Lenny Librizzi, Council on the Environment of New York City

Other activities include:

  • View exhibits from New York-area greening organizations
  • Enjoy Willard Traub’s Remnants of the Garden photos in the Steinhardt Conservatory
  • Check out the Gardener’s Resource Center
  • Visit the Exploring Food Systems photo exhibit in the Rotunda
  • Enjoy interactive Discovery Carts in the Garden
  • Visit the Gift and Garden Shops
  • Seasonal Guided Walking Tour of the Garden (1–2 p.m.)

When Brooklyn WAS Flatbush

Yesterday afternoon I caught the beginning of “The Incredible Mr. Limpet,” a 1964 film set during World War II. The film mixed live action and old-school cell animation. It starred Don Knotts as the piscophile Henry Limpet, who gets his wish and is magically transformed into a fish.

After he falls off a pier at Coney Island (loving the fake, Hollywood 1964 version of a 1940s era subway ride!), his body is never recovered (because he turned into a fish) and he’s presumed dead. His obituary reveals that he resided at “1313 Pleasant Avenue, Flatbush,” a non-existent street in Brooklyn.

But when he first meets his friend Crusty, the hermit crab:

Crusty: Say, what are you, anyway? You related to the porpoise family?
Henry: No, I’m a Limpet. Henry Limpet from Brooklyn. You know, Flatbush.

Oh proud Flatbushian, Henry Limpet, laying claim to all of Brooklyn, we salute you!

Crusty goes on to call him “Flatbush” for the rest of the film.

This was one of my favorite childhood films. Of course, I identified with Don Knotts’ character, a bookish, withdrawn person who identified more with the animal world than his human clan. In particular, I lived in Florida at the time and loved fish and all things aquatic. Later, during my adolescence, I maintained several aquariums; I wept when my pet Oscar jumped out of the tank for the last time. When I was 12 years old, my answer to “What do you want to be when you grow up?” was “either a marine biologist or a neuro-surgeon.” Needless to say, I’m neither, today, but the interests remain.