The Clock Stopped

May 5, 2012

Dear Friends,

How are you? I hope everyone is enjoying the current season. Feels like summer here most days. It's breezy now. JC and one of his best friends are on the patio, drinking beer, and are most likely lying, as usual. I've just been sitting, pretty much. Sitting and thinking, 'cause I'm too enervated to do much else.  Okay, maybe not even thinking, since my brain seems to be on a loop. I can't read because my brain stumbles over every other word, and I tend to read the same sentence over and over again until I'm annoyed. The house is a mess. I've started five or six cleaning projects, and I've abandoned each one. 

There goes that loop again. And I do the same old thing at the end, every doggone time: I chuckle. I shake my head and I tell her, "Girl, you sure fooled me this time." Then I choke. You see, my sister passed this morning. She held on and she rallied after Nephew came from Cali. He talked to her, with his big Marine self. He did what I told him to do. He held her hand, he stroked her hair, and he did even better, and kissed her. Then he commenced to talking to her. He told her how he was taking her advice to heart regarding raising his children. He is a hands-on father. Nephew reminded her of some good times they had when he was growing up. And he asked her to open her eyes and look at him. She did. 

Teams of doctors kept hitting us over the head with how half her brain was dead, and her responses were auto . . . You know what I mean. Well, they were wrong. My sister looked at me. She looked at Nephew last night. And she cried. She blinked twice, as asked. She blinked three times when asked--just to be sure. So. She rallied for Nephew. They "talked" until she was too tired. And so, she slept.

Everyone headed home--believing the Come-back Kid had done it again--to learn the moment they'd basically kicked off their shoes, that she'd let go and was gone. One in the morning is when the clock stopped for my baby sister. I wasn't with her when she was born. I wasn't with her when she left. I am glad she waited for Nephew. I am relieved at her passing, but I tell anyone who will listen, "Baby sister wore that body of hers out. She used it up. Looks like she burned up all its energy from the inside out, and there's nothing left." She's out of my life. She will always be with me though. 

Thank you, dear friends. Thanks for the lovely, sincere, heart-felt mail, your kind thoughts, and prayers. I cannot write yet, but I will when I can. My mom needs taking care of for a while. Be well.

Love & hugs,

Limner

A Limner Limning

Hey, y'all. It's me. For real. I am blue. When I think of me as a Berd, I am usually blue. Not a sad blue, but more like a blue for a blue berd of happiness. The last three or four days have been colorless. My baby sister is in a coma. We were texting the other night after she told me she was in the hospital again. I wasn't feeling well and she couldn't sleep, so I told her to relax and try to sleep. Said I was charging my phone so I could call her in the morning. Guilt made me text her again a few minutes later. She didn't respond, so I assumed the nurse had given her something. I didn't hear from her again. Until JC told me the sad news.

JC drove me to Dallas yesterday. My sister's heart stopped beating. Her doctors brought her back. I call Mina the Come Back Kid. She's knocked on the Dark Door too frequently, and manages to change her mind. The last night we talked, she told me she was tired of being ill. Said once before that she gives up and doesn't even want to try sometimes. I get it. I am tired of her suffering and I am tired of us being so selfish--wanting her to stay when she wants to go.

Yesterday one of her doctors told me my sister is very ill. She put emphasis on very. There are genes in our family that wreak havoc and destruction, and most of us have never heard the names of the diseases they cause--until now. I still struggle to pronounce one of them. It makes my sister's and my aunt's nose bleed so hard, even cauterizing doesn't help. Mina's nostrils were so plugged with wads of gauze, her nose was disfigured. I lost count of all the tubes entering and exiting her frail body. All the machines keeping her alive made me feel helpless. But, she is fighting. She knew I was there. Her eyes moved, her right foot moved, her heart rate increased when I talked to her and when I asked if she heard me. Her doctor said she hears and understands. I promised I'd come back on Friday.

A four hour drive from Katy to Dallas felt like two on our way there. The two hours I spent with her felt like six. The drive back felt like twelve. I thought of my sister all the way there and back. No talking. Just me thinking. JC seemed to understand. I remembered the day Mama brought her home. She handed Mina to me and told me she was mine. Okay, thought I was cried out. Guess I'm not. So . . .

I took up my sketchbook and I did what I do best when I am . . . I did what makes me feel good now. No. My Therd Eye works for me during the day. Drawing takes me out of my head, too. So I drew, and I drew until I was tired. Then I drew some more. I drew little busy-work details. I drew some of the things Mina will recognize when she sees this. You see, I draw her a Berd every chance I get. She said the last one made her laugh so hard she hurt. She will recognize some of the things in the drawing, from my studio. She hasn't seen my cork board yet, so I included it in the drawing, although it doesn't hang behind my chair. I will tell her about it on Friday.

"Limner Limning©"

I will be gone for a while. I don't have anything good to write about any way, and I cannot bear telling everyone the same story over and over in a letter until I put down my pen and never come back. I figured saying it all here and now will be okay. There is humor in everything, so this Berd's for you, and Mina, and for all the Minas. The ICU was packed yesterday. One of the last things I said to her was, "Girl, I didn't know you were a brunette. All these years I thought you were blonde!" She moved her foot. Her eyes moved. LOL. Mina was born with a fist-size patch of bone white hair in the back of her head. Daddy swore she wasn't his 'cause his hair was jet black, and Mama's was too. Was a good thing she looked just like him.

Be well.

Love,

Limner

From Me 'Cause Limner Is Working Hard

Hello! Hello!

I, Norman Mailer, am posting for Limner today, since she is   working seriously to beat a looming deadline. The woman works hard for her money, so I try to treat her right by doing an occasional guest blogger thing. She shows her gratitude by dropping off bags of Texas Gold, cleaning the bath, putting fresh straw in the bottom of the house, and helping out where she can.

You see, I have a small injury. Was involved in a small altercation over at Berd, Bath & Beyond last week. A jay got into it with a mockingberd. When I stepped in to break it up, my arm was darn near pecked apart. Take it from me. When berds of a different feather want to fight together, use a water hose to separate 'em.

So, my vet did his thing and I have to wear a sling for a week or three. I've been walking Limner's mail down to the mail box of late, mainly for the exercise, but it makes me feel like I'm doing something to help her out . . . And I've been noticing a colorful character hanging about. Never says anything. Just watches my movements with an eagle's eye. Not that I'm worried. I can handle myself well if push comes to shove, but I'm not an instigator. I come from a long line of fierce raptors. I served my country as a SSR or Secret Service Raptor . . . I started my own security company. For security reasons I can't reveal more than this. Am just keeping an eye out for now, and getting your mail to you while Limner does her thing.

Yours in ink,

Norman Mailer

P.S. A note to the wise: "Avian's Most Wanted" did a segment on mail bandits and thieves last week. The lurker looks an awful lot like one of those featured. So be on the lookout when you head for your mailbox. Let's be safe out there.

A Limner PSA

PSA = Personal Service Announcement:

Cyrus gave up bird baths as his drinking source once his free glass straw came in the mail.

Glass Dharma is giving away 1000 FREE glass straws in honor of Earth Day. http://glassdharma.com/ If the link doesn't work Google "Glass Dharma." Glass is better than plastic or paper.  

Write on, and pass it along!

Limner

P.S. Misty has a giveaway, too: http://pen-thief.blogspot.com/. Refills cut down on landfills. Write on and pass it along.

***

Aside: Have you tried this paper? How do you rate it? Is it worth the price?

MINE! ALL MINE

If I lived on a country road, I'd have all these. I fantasize about getting mail in a different one every day. I would have a great big one for packages. And I would make huge mail order purchases. I would enjoy walking to the mail box every day--even on Sundays--just to look at them.

Dear Henderica, thank you for this postcard. It gave life to my fantasy. It's stuck on my new cork board. 

Sincerely,

Limner

P.S. Wishing everyone a colorful mail week!

This Has Absolutely Nothing To Do With Mail

 

Ta da!

Thank you, Pete.

Yes-s!

Oh. Does the postcard count?

Oh my. Until now, they hung from the neck of my bedside floor lamp.

Cute, huh? 

This was one of the best projects ever. Wish I could make one for each of you. If I could, I'd be a cork-glueing limner. I'd have cork-glueing elbow/wrist before it was over, but I'd do it. Susan's pins like corks. They practically push themselves. Thanks Susan. Again. 

Then there's this . . .

It's for Walter Pigeon. I thought the colors were perfect. Then I opened the box.

Ahem. 

There was this, too. And a sheet of instructions. Did you hear me cuss?

Can you hear me now?

***

Gotcha! Of course there's mail stuff. 

A. I drew this last night before turning off the light. 

B. Mailed 16 pieces of mail today, and guess what. 

C. The post off will NOT let you swap stamps. Brunhilde told me I could use the unattractive stamps for packages, like the ones I mailed today. 

D. The did not have the William H. Johnson stamps. 

E. Their offerings were pitiful and pathetic.

F. Will he or won't he? What's he plotting? Will he open the mail box for the one armed . . .

Let us back up. Scroll up to the plane. Zoom in on the flyer's face. Remind you of anyone?

F2. Do you ever wonder about drawings or pictures? I drew the thing but have no idea what's going to happen. Is why I enjoy hearing what y'all think when you take a look/see. Wow. Wonder why the guy has his arm in a sling? Wonder if the berd on the branch is red? Haha. Gotcha again? A berd is missing. Hmm.

What's going on? 

Happy mail to you, until we "read" again. See you in the mail.

And, The Winner Is . . .

Drumroll . . .

"Berd? Or Breakfast?"

 It garnered 12 votes. What? You thought it was left up to me? No way. There were too many great entries, so I let family have a say. One person voted twice. They said they laughed so hard their hand spasmed and hit the button twice. Uh huh. So, congratulations K. I. of I Am Rushmore. Your BlueQ bag will go out this week. 

Thanks to everyone who played. I enjoyed this almost too much. Not much beats a good laugh, and y'all made me laugh big time.