Category: Jeanne’s Barefoot Heart (Page 95 of 99)

Jeanne’s personal creative pursuits of stories stitched, written, and spoken

there’s food, then there’s nourishment

December 15, 2009 / jeanne / 12 Comments

best new food has to be the moroccan lunch i recently had at in mouseville. i am not an adventurous eater – my taste buds are old fuddy duddies, stuck in their ways. i have become a veritable magician at disguising pushing food around to look like devouring. but there i was, in epcot with the in-laws. what i’m trying to say is i was outnumbered . . . and the forced moroccan meal was nothing short of delicious. can’t remember what i had, but it was a delicious mingling of sweet and not-sweet. probably could’ve done without the skinny-as-a-rail belly dancer contorting around me as i gorged myself, but the food and the company, well, yes. best food 09 = feasting moroccan with the mouse and the in-law peeps.

but was there some epiphany? did the angels sing down a chorus of “see there” in perfect harmony? am i now forever transformed into a cookbookaholic and someone who orders the most exotic-sounding items on the menu, even if she has to point because she can’t pronounce it? no. oh no, no, no, no, no. culinary adventures are never gonna’ be my thing.

some things never change, and this is one: my favorite meal will always be mashed potatoes and cornbread, what my great-grandmother and i feasted on when i’d visit her in her adorable little termite-infested dollhouse. she would hold the bowl on her left hip, hug it with her left arm and stir and beat and whip all the lumps out before pouring it into a sizzling hot cast iron skillet and popping it in the oven. she taught me how to create the crunchy exterior on cornbread (remember that piping hot cast iron skillet?). she ~~taught me~~ tried to teach me how to peel the potatoes so finely you could see through right through the skin. and she taught me that i don’t have to spend a lot of money or eat exotic things i can’t pronounce to feast.

ps: the picture? that’s me, there, the cute-bordering-on-adorable (well, somebody’s got to say it) one standing on the left, and my great-grandmother, chef mimmy. (the little onionhead she’s holding is my little sister.)

pps: the photo is a snap of an image and emulsion transfer i did in one of my no-fat art adventures.

#best09
~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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querencia

December 11, 2009 / jeanne / 22 Comments

my querencia (spanish for a place where you feel safe, at home, protected, invincible) is here:

and here

and here:

oh, and here:

but perhaps my #1 favorite querencia is here:

that’s right: the shower.

it’s not much to look at, but i like to call it home as often as possible.

it’s there i can relax and

wash away all the day’s dirt and dreariness.

it’s always 5:00 in the shower

where i can sit on the ledge and

and do my best thinking

with a glass of wine or a martini.

in the shower, i can be totally alone.

there’s no phone – just running water

to drown out the sounds of the day around me.

besides the car, it’s where i do my best (and loudest) singing.

i can be totally alone there.

the cats don’t like the shower very much,

the dog can’t open the door,

and my kids are old enough to know that if they wander in,

they’ll go blind at the sight.

#best09
~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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favorite album: lessons from a bird brain

December 10, 2009 / jeanne / 12 Comments

today’s challenge is to write about our favorite album, and since gwen didn’t specifically mention music, i’m going with something we’ll call a video album. though you can’t really hum along and it’s hard to dance to, it is an album that rocked my world. (okay, maybe that’s a little too over the top, but i did learn how to take videos with my new camera and though i did already know how to use idvd, i learned how to use quick time pro, and last but not least, i learned how to upload and share via flickr.)

every morning like clockwork, ms. redbird shows up to defend her space. she’s a tenacious thing, continuing her task despite the would-be distractions of a nosey cat and a growling dog. outsiders are not the issue, you see. ms. redbird tenaciously defends her space from her own reflection, from her own self. when it comes to protecting her personal territory, she is her own worst enemy.

#best09
~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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#best09, #bestof2009

i’ve fallen into challenge and i can’t get up

December 10, 2009 / jeanne / 18 Comments

a snap of tree roots growing in north hollywood, california that look like feet to me. guess it’s all in how you look at things.

just writing this post proves a challenge of the first order as i try to get it from becoming a flat-out pity party.

other top contenders include:

* we moved this year.
* the holidays: overspending.
* the holidays: feeling melancholy instead of the generally preferred (by others) festive.
* the holidays: decorating followed by the dreaded un.
* the holidays: greetings, as in continuing to wish folks a “happy, happy” when around here, anyway, using anything but “merry christmas” can draw blood.
* a to do list that’s about to implode and involve collateral damage.
* settling the estate of a precious, much-loved, childless 97 year-old great-aunt who had two not-really-so-dear-but-just-as-childless-and-tenaciously-long-lived predeceased sisters (a.k.a. you never saw so much stuff).
* learning del.icio.us (the “damn” is implied).
* creating digital social faux pas’es. (which is the way i think you indicate plural, as in a few more than several).
* not sounding too eager when digitally meeting new people.
* not sounding too lackadaisical when digitally meeting new people.
* my weight.
* those little critical, naysaying voices.
* juggling what i need to do with what i want – and vice versa.

i have written this post several times now. the first draft was a clever little ditty about the boot camp i just finished. (or would have had my back not gotten all messed up). the 2nd draft was a wordy wrangle about how the challenge of how much a private girl like me should actually reveal and why opening yourself up is always risky. the edit stage of that version is when i realized my real challenge was how not to appear/feel like a poor-little-me girl. and just now, as i was polishing this off, comes a text message from a friend who underwent surgery for a hernia today telling me they found cancer. and right on the heels of that a call from my brother telling me that his stepson’s face and neck came in direct contact with a full-charged and running drill motor, requiring some 67 stitches on the outside and i-don’t-know-how many on the inside.

so.

now i realize 2 things:
1) in the best interest of myself and everybody else, i HAVE to get this challenge piece posted and move on

and

2) i don’t really have any challenges worthy of note. (but thanks for listening.)

#best09

~~~

the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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#best09, #bestof2009

pieces of peace

December 8, 2009 / jeanne / 16 Comments

my grandmother made quilts – one for everybody in the family.

she’d swap fabric scraps with neighbors, decide on a pattern, then dump the accumulated fabric bits out on the bed, make her selections, and start cutting. she consulted with us about our preferred color for the flannel backing fabric, but she and she alone made the decision on fabric for the quilt tops based mostly – okay, solely – on what fabrics she had in hand.

she used a sewing machine – an old treadle machine – to sew the pieces together into blocks then the blocks together into the top. one the top was assembled, she’d sandwich batting between the quilt top and flannel backing and stitch those together, the machine whirring it’s irregular rhythm. the very last thing she did once the quilting was done and the borders finished off, was embroider our name in a corner of the quilt, and that she did by hand.

honestly, the quilts weren’t all that special to us. we figured quilting was just something grandmother did to keep busy. my mother used our quilts to wrap furniture when she moved it out to redecorate and as beach towels when we went to the ocean and as dog beds on cold winter nights. when they got dirty, she’d throw them in the washing machine then hang them on the line to dry.

a few years ago i decided to catalog grandmother’s quilts and asked my cousins, aunts, and uncles to bring their quilts to be photographed. when we held the first one up to the backdrop of the woods and stepped back to have a look, there was an audible collective inhale followed by the most exquisite silence – the silence of respect and appreciation and love-in-a-new-light.

my quilt is in the velveteen stage of life, loved raw in places, the batting spilling out and making a mess all over the place. i’ve thought about mending it, but, shoot, i’ve never gotten around to it. i ought to, though, because let me tell you one thing: some of the most peaceful moments i’ll ever know are enjoying that deep, peaceful, falling-off-the-edge good sleep that comes only on the nights when grandmother’s quilt is wrapped around me. mmm mmm mmm. all those tiny little pieces. painstakingly cut, arranged, then stitched together into something bigger. something much, much bigger.

#best09
~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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#best09

this blog changed my life in less than a week. i’m not kidding.

December 8, 2009 / jeanne / 22 Comments

first, i want to say, on behalf of both gwen and me, that this was no setup. but, gwen, i do thank you for making today’s post so easy for me.

i spent the better part of this year spinning things off and practicing saying “not now, i’m writing” without apology or laughter. my plan is that come january 2010, i will sit in the green leather banker’s chair that once belonged to my paternal granddaddy and write those books and plays i’ve been carrying around inside for a while. i’ve remain determined that i want to do that, but as the calendar ticks nearer the 1/1 box, my confidence wavers.

then on november 30, author, blog/facebook/twitter rockstar, and funny one patti digh posts something on facebook about this blog challenge that she’s entering, and before i had time to talk myself out of it, i’m in, too. i wanted a ready-made writing structure and to develop a rhythm to my writing days, and i’ve found that and much, much more . . .

i ~~am becoming~~ will eventually become fluent in twitter.

i’m meeting new people – folks who are not only nice and encouraging and supportive, but who are dynamic, crackerjack, intelligent writers, and, as if all that isn’t enough, they step up my writing game. they raise my bar. for starters, and in no particular order, there’s lindsey; and patty; and karen; and angela; and mahala; and bryce.

i am choosing – sometimes it’s agonizing and i want to dodge in the worst sort of way – but i stick and select, and that feels good. real, real good.

i am developing a rhythm that goes like this: i read the assignment > think about it all day > let it get bigger and bigger and bigger to the point of wondering about things like bandwidth > spend some creativity coming up with reasons i just can’t post today > jotting a few notes > then finally sitting down just to see if anything comes out > burn a little clock trying to find my notes > then sighing audibly and turn my fingers loose.

i am learning new organization systems for my digital life, for keeping up with the so-called normal life while checking in with new posts and investigating new links. responding and replying and initiating communications, encouragement, and support so i don’t take more than i give and don’t constantly feel like i’m sipping from a firehose. (it’s slow going and none have completely gelled yet unfortunately, so ideas, suggestions, and tips welcomed and appreciated.)

i am accepting positive feedback and encouragement with heartfelt appreciation instead of my usual sidestepping or deflecting in my familiar aw-shucks mode. for decades, i’ve been the cheerleader, you see – a role i find easy and rewarding – but to have the tables turned, to have others rah-rahing me makes me think keep-it-coming while saying oh-stop.

i am making my way through a month that others find full and festive, a month i find melancholy on the best day. participation hasn’t made me giddily festive or caught me wearing christmas sweaters or wiring a wreath onto the grill of my car, but i am quietly getting through the month focusing on what has filled instead of what has emptied. and i’m discovering and developing more good things in the process. it just doesn’t get much better than that.

with so many benefits, it’s easy to see why i say that behind door #1 we have the best blog i stumbled onto in 2009: gwen bell’s big love in a small world. gwen, sugar, i thank you for being and supplying the kindling. i thank you for being fun and generous and honest. i thank you for raising the standard with your writing. and i especially thank you for yesterday, for making me believe that maybe – just maybe – i can do this thing called writing.

p.s. gwen, feel free to go ahead and sign me up as a 2010 volunteer . . . but do you think i could be an elf instead of a reindeer? it’s a personal preference thing, that’s all.

#best09
~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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the wind tunnel as life’s little book of big lessons

December 7, 2009 / jeanne / 24 Comments

this is my boy, kipp. he could collect toy trains or comic books or baseball cards, but nooooo. his hobby is jumping out of airplanes, and the weekend before thanksgiving, i got to see him compete in the national skydiving championship.

i’ll get to the conference part in a minute, but first, let me introduce you to my son:

when he was 11 years old, kipp was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. he could’ve tucked himself into a nice safe cocoon where he remained comfortable, but instead he pursued acting and snowboarding and running themed marathons (like the time he ran through the mud carrying a huge boombox) and eventually skydiving. which is not to say that he runs around constantly pushing the limits and behaving recklessly. no, he’s quite the balanced guy – one helluva writer who’s also holding down a full-time job, raising a dog he rescued from the pound, participating in some open mic nights, snowboarding during the season . . . and skydiving every chance he gets.

i’ll get to the conference part in a minute, right after i show you a few snapshots of my boy at the recent championship:

here he is right after his chute opened. his dad argued that some other guy was kipp (his dad also mistakenly goo-goo’ed over somebody else’s baby in the nursery after our daughter was born, but we’ll talk about that another time).

and this is kipp righting himself in preparation for the landing:

and finally we see kipp – well, we see his chute anyway – safely on the ground:

i’ll tell you about the conference, but first you need to know that kipp’s team, relativity, came in 2nd at that national championship.

okay, now proud mama is ready to tell you about the best conference of 2009 . . . which isn’t exactly a conference but i’m going with it anyway. if you squint, i promise it comes close to qualifying because: (1) there were several people there, (2) i only knew one of them (2 if you count kipp’s former girlfriend, but let’s not), and (3) i learned something new. (not something you’d call a marketable skill, but still, i learned something. something important.)

kipp practices for skydiving competitions during weekly sessions in the indoor wind tunnel, and one day last year, (this is as good a time as any to mention that i just don’t track linear, chronological time that well) he took me along. i watched the 5-minute training video, suited up, double-knotted my shoes, and took my place in line (last).

before we started, the instructor went over the hand signals one more time. this, he said slightly curling 2 fingers, means bend your legs slowly. and this, he said straightening out those same 2 fingers, means straighten out your legs just a little. this, he said putting a finger to each corner of his mouth, means smile, and this, he said displaying the hawaiian sign for hang loose, means relax.

as it turns out, falling into the tunnel is my specialty. once inside the tunnel, however, things went ugly fast. some of the air churned by the unbelievably huge and loud (even with earplugs) jet engines went right up my nose and, well, you know how when you forget that you’re not a fish and inhale while under water and feel like you’re gonna’ drown any minute now? it’s not just a water thing. it can happen with air, too, i’m here to tell you. i felt like i was going to drown and just like in the movies, my life whizzed by before my eyes.

okay, well, not my ENTIRE life, but i did vividly remember that one time when i went swimming at lake spivey with my friend joyce and nearly drowned because i jumped off the concrete block wall (don’t ask why a lake had a wall – just don’t ask) a little further to the deep side than i should have been. ordinarily i would have just waded in like i normally did, but you see joyce knew everything about everything (just like her mother did) and she was best at everything (just like her mother was) and she knew everybody who was anybody (just like her mother did) so naturally i could NOT tell them that i didn’t know how to do anything more at a lake than walk in ankle-deep water.

i was drowning in jet-propelled air this time, though, and right about then is when i realized that while i could read their signals, we hadn’t begun to talk about mine. i began motioning furiously to the exit door, and the instructor just smiled and gave me the relax sign. eventually, when i pulled away and just started to swim (i’m embarrassed to tell you that i did – i swam through the air) towards the exit door, the instructor picked up on where i was headed and helped me get there.

my boy and his friends were kinda’ concerned about me, but honestly, my early exit meant more flying time for them, so their concern didn’t exactly eat up a lot of clock. i gave myself a good talking to and knew – i just knew – i couldn’t quit. i might never have this opportunity again, so i had to shake it off, take myself in hand, get back in there, and fly.

and when it was my turn again, i did – get back in there, i mean – and i swear, it was a near-exact repeat. fall in: check. air goes up nose: check. panic sets in: big time check. again i started with my own wild, obviously indecipherable hand signals, and again the instructor gave me his signal to relax. every time i’d manage to get myself oriented towards the exit door, he’d grab a grip on my suit and spin me back around. with my eyes, i pleaded with the guy in the control booth to GET ME OUT, but he just smiled and turned up the air. finally i realized that i was, in fact, going to be in that tunnel until my time was up, and so, i reasoned, i and i alone was responsible for how i spent my time there.

relax, i told myself, and i relaxed. breathe, i told myself, and i breathed. look around, i told myself, and i looked around. shoot, i think i even smiled a bit. i focused on what my body was doing and feeling and marveled at how the slightest movement – just a quarter turn of one hand, for example, changed my direction or altitude.

when my 2 minutes were up (yes, it sounded like it was a lot longer, didn’t it?), was when i was just getting comfortable.

i’ve thought a lot about that conference. about how short my time was there, about how i spoke my own language that not everybody understood, about how my slightest movement was powerful enough to affect big changes . . . about how if i’d’ve been given a face guard to provide full-face protection, things might’ve turned out much, much differently.

#best09
~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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#best09

the best night(s)

December 6, 2009 / jeanne / 0 Comments

before we get started, a confession: i signed up for gwen bell’s blog challenge for two specific, well-thought-out (maybe fairly well-thought-out is more like it), self-serving reasons:
1. i want and i need to associate with good writers, seriously good writers. writers who will keep me sharp and keep me trying.
2. i don’t know if it’s fear of commitment or what, but i have trouble selecting favorites in my life. oh, i’m reflective enough all right, but in a general, broad-stroke sort of way.

that said, today’s assignment goes like this: December 5 Night out. Did you have a night out with friends or a loved one that rocked your world? Who was there? What was the highlight of the night? and my response goes like this:

best pre-2009 nights that come to mind include the night when, as an undergraduate student, i felt absolutely, undeniably, uncontrollably in love with my life. and the night he scooped me up – broken knee and all – and whisked me away minutes after we said “i will. oh, yes, yes, yes, you know i will.” how could i ever forget the night my daughter was born, and i slept through the night on my stomach for the first time in 12 years or the night 14 months later when my son was born and spent his first night sleeping quietly right beside me as i finished his christmas stocking?

then, after enough consideration to disrupt sleep and cause headaches, i’ve decided that the best 2009 nights include (in no particular order):
the night we supped with our n.c. friends – people we know only by sight – and their longtime friends whom we’d never seen at all. now eating with the people who live next door can be tricky. real tricky. and expensive if things go badly and you wind up having to sell your house or something. anyway, the first potential land mine is the fact that i’m a picky eater of the first order. it’s nothing my mother did or didn’t do, it’s just the way it is and i am. and what if we have multiple forks and i select the wrong one? what if we stay too long? leave too early? what if there’s something i can (read: will) eat, and it sticks to my teeth . . . and what if it’s an APPETIZER? what if i say the wrong thing? what if andy says the wrong thing and i can’t cover?

you get the picture.

at the appointed time, we head out and walk down to their house. it’s a nice night (and, honestly, we forget all about the fact that we’ll be walking uphill on the way home). what unfolded after we crossed their threshold is a night that, well, i’m writing about it here, so you know it was a good night. the food was DELICIOUS – i even asked for a recipe. there was only one spoon, one knife, and one fork at each place. the conversation flowed freely and easily – even when the other two couples talked about things shared, we didn’t feel left out for a single minute.

as we ate and talked and laughed – oh my goodness how we did laugh – the music played, and to my great delight, we would, after the hosts set the example, get up and dance right smack dab in the middle of the meal. this wasn’t dancing after dinner, this was dancing during dinner – and nobody had to ask to be excused. a good song would come on, and somebody would be up dancing before you could say “turn it up.”

another night worth remembering is a recent meal at the house of other friends. again, the food was delicious, the conversation never stalled, and cutlery was blessedly kept to one of each. at one point in the meal, the four of us were watching a football game on television; reading selections from a book by carlos castaneda, and discussing pre-columbian textiles as modern art – all at the same time.

the other 2009 night that comes to mind is this past thanksgiving night when i was settled in with the husband, my two chiclets, my mother, and an assortment of cats and dogs. tummies were full, dishes were clean and stored, and as we sat talking about this ‘n that while looking at the spectacular, can’t-take-your-eyes-off-of-it waterfall, it started snowing. we turned off all the lights inside, turned on all (read: both) the outside lights, and sat mesmerized with the beauty and quietness of it all.

. . . you know for a picky eater who hates cooking, it’s interesting that each one of my favorite nights involves a meal, isn’t it? well, i suppose there’s nourishment then there’s nourishment.

#best09

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best of 09: favorite book

December 5, 2009 / jeanne / 0 Comments

(then)

let’s pretend i’m visiting my son who lives in the mountain time zone so i can post this by the midnight deadline . . .

If the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children. ~ Madeleine L’Engle

just two weeks ago as we exited the vikings boat ride at epcot through the norway gift shop, my eyes (that were riveted on the door that would eventually let us out of the retail maze) happened upon an old, dear friend: a book called Snow Treasure by Marie McSwigan. not so very long ago (if you ignore calendars, numbers, math, and such) this book held my fourth grade self captive. i read that book enough to wear the words right off the page and into my memory. in the story (that’s reportedly true), a group of norwegian children got up every morning, loaded their sleds with gold bullion, then pulled the gold to safety, sneaking it right under the noses of the nazis whose uninvited arrival changed a peaceful village into a land of fear, uncertainty, and oppression.

so delighted was i to be reacquainted with this old friend (who’s had some cover work done, let me tell you), that i adopted all 4 available copies: 1 copy for each of my children to open on christmas and 2 for me (so i’ll have a replacement when i read the words right off the page again).

(now)

#best09

~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

Technorati Tags: #best09

best article of 09: live your obituary into truth

December 4, 2009 / jeanne / 9 Comments

i’m participating in this december blogging challenge, you see, and the object is to write a post every day on the given topic. the assignment du jour is to write about an article read in 2009, something good enough to be clipped and tucked away in the family bible. what immediately came to mind for me is an obituary published earlier this year in the cleveland newspaper, an obituary i found via patti digh, who is a veritable treasure trove of good words and good works.

i love reading the obituaries – not to see if anybody i know has died (contrary to what you may have heard, i’m not THAT old), but because, well, there’s just nothing that delights me more than a well-written obituary. this one is the kind of obituary that needs to be written in youth so there’s time to grow into it, to live it into truth.

p.s. i also love visiting cemeteries, too . . . which i guess you might expect from somebody who reads obituaries for fun. my children learned much about multi-digit math and history and writing from tombstones, and though she’s no longer in need of schooling in the graveyard, my daughter was with me on a recent cemetery walk when i snapped the photo you see here.

(NANCY) LEE HIXSON of Danville, Ohio died at sunrise on June 30, 2009. She was born Nancy Lee Wood in Cleveland on April 17, 1944, baptised at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, Valley City, Ohio, and confirmed at St. John’s Lutheran Church, Independence Ohio.

In addition to being a teetotaling mother and an indifferent housekeeper, she was a board certified naturopath specializing in poisonous and medicinal plants; but she would like to point out, posthumously, that although it did occur to her, she never spiked anyone’s tea. She often volunteered as an ombudsman to help disadvantaged teens find college funding and early opened her home to many children of poverty, raising several of them to successful, if unwilling, adulthood. She also enjoyed a long life of unmentionable adventures and confessed she had been a rebellious teen-aged library clerk, an untalented college student on scholarship, a run-away Hippie, a stoic Sunday School teacher, a Brownie leader, a Grange lecturer, an expert rifleman, a waitress, a wife once or twice, a welder, an artist, and a writer.

She was in earlier years the president of Rainbow Systems Trucking Company, Peninsula Ohio, and she drove tractor-trailers over-the-road hauling freight commodities to startled customers from Minnesota to Florida. She was the CEO of the Cuyahoga Valley Center of Outdoor Leadership Training (COLT), where she lived in a remote and tiny one-room cabin in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park.

Despite the lack of cabin space and dining table, she often served holiday dinners to friends and relatives and could seat twenty at the bed.

She lived the last twenty-three years at Winter Spring Farm near Danville where she built a private Stonehenge, and planted and helped save from extinction nearly 50 varieties of antique apple trees, many listed in A.J. Downing’s famous orchard guide of 1859 – among them such delicacies as Summer Sweet Pearmain, Sops of Wine, Westfield Seek No Further, and Duchess of Oldenburg. Her homemade cider and wine were reputed to cause sudden stupor. She befriended countless stray dogs, cats, horses, and the occasional goat. She was a nemesis to hunters, and an activist of unpopular, but just, causes. In short, she did all things enthusiastically, but nothing well.

After moving to Danville, she bravely suffered with a severe and disabling disorder and a ten-year battle with lymphoma that ultimately took her life. She was often confined to the home where she continued to tirelessly volunteer and donate her limited resources to needy teens in the area, always cheered by their small and large achievements.

Sympathy and big donations may be extended at this time.

She was predeceased by her father Dwight Edward Wood of the Ohio pioneer Wood family of Byhalia, who died in the Columbus Jail having been accused of a dreadful crime, and by her second father Ted A. Cznadel of Danville who adopted her, loved her and raised her despite it all. She is survived by her dearly beloved son, her heart and soul and every breath, Christopher Daniel Hixson of Akron, (a sterling citizen who rose above his murky childhood with a scandalous mother), and by his loving partner Mitchell Kahan. She is also survived by her mother, the opinionated and stubborn Ann Gall Cznadel; by her brother the Rev. Dr. Thomas R. Sluberski, a Lutheran minister and professor, most recently of Rio de Janeiro; by her gentle, ecological brother Gregory T. Cznadel, a quality manager of Cleveland; by her talented sister Linda R. Cznadel Hauck, a librarian from sea to shining sea, of San Luis Obispo; by her genius nephew and godson Matthew Hauck of Minneapolis; and the other half of her heart, her patient friend and backstairs lover of thirty years, David Paul Bleifus who resides at the farm.

Ms. Hixson traced her lineage directly through eleven generations to Governor William Bradford of the ship Mayflower and the Plimouth Colony, and was in the process of membership to The Mayflower Society. She was a long-time card carrying member of the ACLU, the Democratic Party, and of MENSA.

The family wishes to thank Dr. Gene Morris for his care, understanding and sense of humor through it all; Dr. Paul Masci of Cleveland Clinic Wooster; and Dr. Skip Radwany and the nursing staff of the Palliative Care Center at Summa for their compassion as Lee shuffled off this mortal coil. Cremation has taken place. Immediate family and friends will gather at Stonehenge on a sunny summer day to celebrate her life. Interment is in the family plot at Brinkhaven Hilltop Cemetery in Brinkhaven, Ohio, where she will await an eventual and probable slide down the cliff to the Mohican River below. In lieu of flowers, please pray for the Constitution of the United States. “Now Voyager depart, (much, much for thee is yet in store)…” – Walt Whitman

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the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
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