Friday night, October 29, 2010 — Still grateful

I'm getting ready to host five days of Kumihimo workshop (mostly Japanese braiding). I host this gathering under the name of The Kumihimo Festival in my Henhouse Studio each year. It is actually a class that is sponsored by Pacific Textile Arts. If you are interested, I'll be posting some reports and pictures from this year's activities in the studio as the days go by on the PTA website. (pacifictextilearts.org) I serve a different soup to the group each day and thoroughly enjoy having them here. I received a note from a friend asking me how I could possibly stand to host the workshop here this year. I bring this up because I think it's so important for all of us to remember that grieving is different for each individual. I am broken hearted over what has happened but I am still a functioning human being. That is simply who I am. I would be miserable withdrawing from all human interaction. I would probably go crazy. I need plenty of time alone with my thoughts and sadness but it is only part of what I feel I require. I totally respect the need for others to withdraw completely for a while but that would be out of character for me. So please don't worry that I'm trying to do too much too soon. I pace myself each day and still fall apart without warning. Much of what I feel will probably never go away — it will just soften around the edges.

Most days I feel a growing ability to get things done and see things more clearly. I'm grateful for that. And I continue to come back to the feelings of gratitude I felt toward the staff at Sutter Medical Center while Skip was there. It means so much to all of our family that our days were both a roller coaster there but also filled with hope. That hope was certainly enhanced by the presence of the most humane group of medical people I have ever encountered. Nurses like Kathy, Bill, Sam, Sara and many others kept us filled with admiration for their professional skills, their boundless energy and most of all their ever present caring attitude. We all know the final outcome was not what any of us wanted to have happen. And certainly not those dear nurses who are forced to see this kind of event more than a human would ever wish for. But they don't fold up their tents and go home. They stick with it day after day and make life so much more bearable for families like ours. We want them to know that we would welcome visits from them any time they'd like to come over to the coast and be in Skip's home and garden and get a feel for where he came from when he spent that last month with them.

We were grateful for the physical plant and its amenities as well. The courtyard located near the cafeteria, with its medicinal plant garden and handsome shade trees was a daily comfort to all of us. Mike and the kids played music almost every day we were there. It was a little oasis in which one could gather the strength to go on encouraging Skip to fight for his life each day.

October 26 — More thoughts of Echo

How heartwarming it was to have so many dear Echo friends come to Fort Bragg for Skip's memorial. Steve had set out some logs early in the day in the event that we'd still be visiting after dark. I returned from saying goodbye to good friends and was drawn to the cheerful fire as the night became cooler. A chair was produced for me as I approached and as I looked around, I realized that every single person around that fire was an Echo Laker. Skip would have loved seeing so many of them here on his coastal grounds. His energy was there for sure. What a special bond there is between those of us who have gathered at Echo every summer for so many years.

Skip had just returned from a week at Echo in order to attend some MLPA meetings. I'm so happy he had that last visit there in the place he had been journeying to since he was a small boy. Seeing our group of grandchildren and their Echo friends who are like family to us, all greeting those who attended the memorial and asking them about their friendships with Skip, made me so proud to have such a lovely group of almost adults in our midst and performing social deeds with the same grace Skip had quietly demonstrated to them over the years. Sadly, he never made it to the MLPA meeting which was so important to him, but he'd have been overjoyed this evening when it was announced that the group he had been working with had come to unanimous agreement and that their decisions had been approved by the blue ribbon committee at this week's meeting in Humboldt County.

I have an update on the performance I attended with Kerry and Christina Sunday evening. The amazing woman who wowed us with her complex, ever changing adornments and movements is Sha Sha Higby. That evening's program was titled In Folds of Gold —a journey in elaborate sculptural costume. Ms. Higby, who is based in Bolinlas, has entertained audiences around the world with her unique blend of textural creations, masks, body coverings suggesting creatures and artifacts from another world, slow evocative movements and sounds from who knows where. Just as we were leaving the theater, Kerry discovered that there were CDs featuring her art for sale at the entrance to the theater. This morning, before even feeding the dogs, I noticed the disc next to my laptop on the kitchen table. Poor dogs. An hour later, after watching the whole offering with a huge smile on my face and sometimes breaking out in uncontrolled laughter, I finally gave Bobby and Latte their morning fair. Certainly was good for what ails me. Higby's website is at: www.shashahigby.com.

The small pleasures in life

Have you ever thought about how much you like to comment on the size of the moon with your loved one? I was driving up Sherwood Road this evening about 8:30, and suddenly, through the trees, as bright and clear as a bell, hung a magnificent moon. Not yet completely full but promising to be, soon, this gemstone in the night sky suddenly brought tears to my eyes. Such a simple, everyday thing. I'm beginning to think that these are the things that matter most. Not to be taken for granted.

Night skies and early morning fires in the big stove in the living room. Skip was a morning person. I had to learn to be one when we had children. But it's not my natural body rhythm. I had definitely reverted after we moved to the north coast. Skip would be awake at 6:00 and I would venture out around 8:00 to see and feel the warmth of a beautiful, crackling fire sending up its dancing images from below. I rarely failed to thank him for this gesture because each time I came out onto the balcony to that scent and warmth I felt such a genuine gratitude.

We're easing our way into our first winter without him. More keeps coming to my mind. If I had a class or a meeting to go to, I often found the windshield cleared of ice so I wouldn't be outside too long. Next would come the offer to open the gate for me. Guess I had it pretty good. You think?

I'm seriously contemplating getting an electric gate opener. Do they work if the power goes off? I don't mind the mornings, but I'm not too big on doing it in the pitch dark. Although I often think of it as a good test of my night vision, which I've been somewhat blessed with. Maybe it comes from growing up walking the winding paths and roads in Canyon at all times of the night. Not bad training for here or Echo, eh?

Will I be ready to brave Echo this coming year? I was scheduled to drive there in August, the day Skip became so ill. Didn't make it up there at all this year. I hope I'll be able to face it. It is a place we built together and both loved so much. I stayed there every summer with the children while Skip did field work during the week and then headed back to us each Friday night. I used to set out one of those classic red lanterns at the end of the dock for him to see his way into our cove. And then we'd walk out on the porch each time we thought we heard the familiar sound of that Mercury motor on the Searcher. I hope I'll be able to face it along with the so often repeated drive to get there. It's these little ordinary things that suddenly take on immense importance. I've answered my question already. I will go to Echo this summer.

Skip would have loved this rain!

The much heralded rains finally arrived yesterday evening. It was, for the most part, just the kind of rain Skip loved. Steady through the night and off and on during the day. Nothing quite as wild here as we had been expecting, but evidently we were the lucky ones. The radio spoke of trees down and precarious rides through Fort Bragg. Just fine where we are and my ride through town and then down to Mendocino this evening was totally uneventful.

Good friends invited me for dinner and then we went to an amazing performance at the Art Center. It was a slow motion one woman show involving stunning costume elements hinting the shapes of insects or similar creatures. The scene opened with the spotlight on a semi-dark stage with a slightly quivering figure center stage with various shapes and constructions strewn on the rest of the floor. I'll come back to this description tomorrow in this same entry when I can tell you more authoritatively what I was seeing. Let's just say for now that it was exciting visual stuff. I thank my hosts a million times for suggesting that we attend this unusual textile enriched, sculptural performance.

I saw lots of old friends there, some for the first time since Skip died. People are so kind. I really appreciate their efforts to comfort me. I know that for some of them it is difficult to find the words they are looking for. Such a contrast .... this aesthetic marvel we've just been watching and then consoling conversations. I guess that's life. I just had never noticed it that way before. We capped the night with a nice cup of tea and more conversation. I drove home thankful for such comfortable and thoughtful friends.

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Our good friend Lolli is coming down from Seattle this week with her ninty something mother. Her Mom will stay in Fort Bragg with Ron while Lolli, Holly and Roger take off on Friday for the dream of a lifetime trip from Lolli's point of view. They will be attending an international conference on textiles in Cuzco. Our old friend, Nilda from Peru will be holding forth and we're all thrilled that Lolli and Holly will have the opportunity to see things and places they've been teaching about for years. Roger will undoubtedly be chasing down every rare bird that exists in the area. I wish them the loveliest trip possible.

This is my last week to prepare for the Kumihimo workshop which begins in my studio on November 1 and runs five days. Thursday, November 4, Makiko Tada will give an informal lecture and we'll hold an open studio and potluck dinner for all interested souls. It's my hope to actually do some braiding during that week. I serve a different soup to the gang each day, so some of my time will be in the kitchen as well. Always a joyous week for us braiders. I'm really looking forward to it. And I know there will be some moments when I'll not be able to avoid thinking of the help Skip always gave me while seeing to all the needs of this enthusiastic group. Wish me luck with this first "on my own" go at it.

Saturday,October 23, 2010S — Learning to cope

First, before I forget it, I want to assure all the people who have asked, that my lacerated upper arm that catipulted into the outside water faucet, is healing beautifully. I'm able to use all but one of the machines at Curves and swimming the crawl no longer hurts it a bit. Thanks to the good services of the ER staff at our hospital in Fort Bragg. I must admit to having been a bit frightened when it continued to hurt for so long, but I'm told that the hurting was simply par for the course and that I was very lucky not to have severed a major artery. And now I'm barely aware of it when I move my arm.

I'm sitting in my little family room off of our kitchen because the Wi Fi reaches there from the studio. The laptop is on a small TV table and a certain little white dog from Yelapa is cuddled up next to me begging to be petted. He is the same little guy who keeps me company at night. I wake up at dawn with his back pressing against mine, seeking warmth through the covers. He and our almost fifteen year old Latte are constant companions around the house and when I walk over to my Henhouse studio, they are right along side of me. Latte never followed me from room to room so diligently before Skip died. This tells me that the dogs are sensitive to and mourning our loss in their own ways.

I have much to learn. I don't really know the ins and outs of either our water or electrical systems. I haven't taken a lesson in driving the tractor mower yet. Larkin has promised to teach me. Certain things that were usually Skip's territory are things I just have to practice not being lazy about, such as carrying out the garbage and the compost and putting the cans out on Monday night. I never have been a fan of replacing light globes. Maybe I can work it to do such things when one of my tall offsprings is here for a visit. It's amazing how many things one shares with a partner without thinking about it. Even answering the ring of the phone was something we kind of alternately volunteered for on a "fairness" basis.

Sharing opinions about the books we were reading is also something I greatly miss. I just finished The Apothecary's Daughter. Now I've migrated to another grief oriented activity. Several people have passed on books to calm my aching heart. They all seem to have something here and there that hits the mark for me. But I'm now half way through a book called "Healing After Loss" which has definitely helped me to put everything into perspective. Timing is everything. I was evidently ready for this book, which features short quotes from the likes of Wendell Berry to Alice Walker. The author of the book, Martha Hickman, who lost a daughter to a horseback riding accident at age sixteen, adds some form of personal comment and elaboration after each quote. She writes well and is insightful without being too authoritative. Just right for my current moment. Grief is like a moving target. One minute I feel I'm pacing myself well between attending to business and giving myself time for contemplation. Then I suddenly feel I'm in a daze of disbelief. One thing is for sure. This is a universal condition. That's definitely one thing the reading has driven home to me. So I try to find a balance between sober thinking and having a good laugh with a friend. (Or by myself) Laughing brings endorphins and you all know I love endorphins. Off for a Saturday swim shortly.

Thanks so much to those of you who are still writing emails to me and commenting on the blog. I love you too, Serena. Hope you'll come to the coast one of these days. Thanks to friends who do the things you do. I love you all and I'm so grateful to you for helping me to keep my life on track.

Monday, October 11, 2010 — Two months later

Today marks the second month anniversary of Skip's death. I keep expecting him to walk through the door. I am still unable to watch him on DVDs that have been thoughtfully made to record his presence. They are just too real for me to be able to handle. But I am sure I will reach a time when I will greatly welcome being able to see him looking so real and being his kind, thoughtful and gracious self.

Daily I tell myself and my friends and family that I am doing quite well. I really do believe that when I say it. Yet here I am dissolving in tears that just won't quit. I have been left with a comfortable life in a house I love and community that is incredibly supportive. My children have been so generous with time from their busy lives. I have more than enough to keep me occupied with necessary chores, commitments and hopefully some time soon for creativity. So why can't I even think or see clearly today? Is this what anniversaries do to you? It certainly isn't that I haven't been warned. In fact I have received warnings which I choose to defy and hope will never come true.

I am the kind of person who would rather adopt a totally realistic view of my existance. I do not want to hide from anything. And I want to be happy and live a creative and productive life. I truly believe this is exactly what Skip would want me to do.

I went to dinner at a seaside hotel out of town with dear friends this weekend. We talked a great deal about loss and grieving. It was the right conversation to have with the right people. I suddenly realized that this is one more not so subtle example of how one's life changes after this kind of landmark event. "You suddenly become part of a club you hadn't counted on joining." Being with these great people who were so cared for by Skip as well as me was comfortable and fulfilling. The food and ambiance were beyond wonderful. I returned home happy and ready to work on the rummage sale we had planned for my driveway early the next morning to support the Pacific Textile Arts fund to bring a classroom and library space to our Alger Street location. This week we will possibly sign a contract for moving the buildings and that will bring about monumental changes in what we are able to provide for our vital community. So, in just talking about all that, I have cleared my eyes, am mentally listing my commitments for the day and feel that I am indeed doing alright. Bless all of you who keep me busy with my chores and answering your notes and preparing for the Kumihimo class which will be held in my studio at the beginning of November. All of this is what will help me retain my sanity. I love you all for helping me.

October 11, 2010 Skip's Official Obituary

Skip Wollenberg Obituary

Harold (Skip) Wollenberg died August 11th at Sutter Medical center in Santa Rosa after a month of serious illness. Skip was born in San Francisco on February, 13, 1933 to parents, Harold and Leah Wollenberg. He attended Lowell High School in San Francisco and completed undergraduate work at UC Berkeley, where he majored in geology. In1955 Skip married Jackie Price. Soon after, he served in the U.S. Navy for two years as an executive officer on a military sea transport ship, making multiple trips to the South Pacific.

After retiring from the Navy Skip took his first geology job at the Homestake Gold Mine in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Three years later he and his family returned to Berkeley where he completed graduate work in engineering geology. During graduate school Skip began working at Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory where he continued to be employed for thirty-three years. During his time at Lawrence Berkeley he was invited by the Danish government to work for the Danish Atomic Energy Commission. He, Jackie and their three children lived in Denmark for two stimulating years during which Skipdid extensive field work in Greenland. Skip traveled widely as a geologist, including to post-Soviet Russia. Some of his experiences are included in the book, ALONG THE WAY, which he co-authored.

After retiring from Lawrence Berkeley Lab Skip and Jackie moved to Fort Bragg, California in 1992. Skip had an amazing, productive life on the north coast. He acted as a geologic consultant to several environmental groups in Mendocino and Humboldt counties. He also did consulting on slope stability for private groups and individuals. Much of this consulting work he did probono. Most recently he served on the Regional Stake Holders Group advising the Marine Life Protection Act.

Skip loved long walks in the Sierra with family and friends. He enjoyed rowing in the early morning on Echo Lake, kayaking and fly-fishing on coastal rivers. He enthusiastically played boule on Sundays at the harbor, and met with his writer’s group every Thursday. He thoroughly enjoyed travels with friends and family. The love Skip felt for his family and community was fully returned. He was a gracious and generous man with a great sense of humor and a sharp mind. He will be dearly missed by all. Skip is survived by his wife, Jackie, his brother Charles, his three children, Mike, Steve, and Kathy, and their spouses, Jenny, Susan, and Danny. He is also survived by his four adoring grandchildren Leah, Larkin, Elena, and Mira and his dogs Latte and Bobby. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to: Pacific Textile Arts (for installation of a children’s classroom and library) at: pacifictextilearts.org or to the Skip Wollenberg Scholarship Fund for students at College of the Redwoods in Fort Bragg.

A celebration of Skip’s life will be held for friends and family at his home on Sunday, September 26, 2010.

Monday, October 4, 2010 — The journey continues

It's still going at a one day at a time pace. Being the rather introspective person that I am, I have become fascinated by the uncountable facets of grief. It's not that I haven't thought about it before. I grieved painfully for my mother who truly left before she had completely come to grips with her life and her desires. I have mourned for the loss of friends. But this, for me, is a whole new stratosphere.

We held our memorial celebration for Skip a week ago and since that day I think I have heard more good and otherwise advise than I would think possible. It certainly reminds one that you are not the only one who has ever experienced such a loss. When it comes down to it, each person's loss is as monumental to him as the one that befalls the rest of us. Which brings one back to the fact that there is nothing new about it all. It is just so excruciatingly personalized when it's your loss you're talking about. I think each loss is like a finger print. There can never be one exactly like another.

So, I look around and try to find the little things that have eventually helped my friends and acquaintances to stay sane and work their way back to creative and productive lives after an earth shaking loss. Many have recommended grief groups. Perhaps for me, perhaps not. Time will tell. I have several friends who have helped me the most toward finding a sense of perspective. Just knowing that I can say anything to them and ramble on about my feelings is so comforting. I love them for being there for me. My children help me a lot and I try to help them because I know they are each grieving the loss of their father in their own way. The memorial celebration was therapeutic to all of us and I believe to our friends also.

I would like to thank my children, grandchildren and brother in law for their incredible support and assistance on the day of the celebration. Mike and Leah played wonderful music as the guests were arriving. I was able to get through a few words of welcome before I had to turn the proceedings over to Skip's brother Chuck. I couldn't have made it through the day without him and his calm control. Our daughters-in-law took over the kitchen with Sachiyo and Tammy and Laurie with amazing energy. Our son Steve, back from living in Italy, spoke after Chuck and gave us a lovely sense of how important family is to all of us. Mike played a lovely tune dedicated to his father and Kathy told us of her dreams involving her father. Leah played a wonderful tune and Steve read the great poem that Mira had written about the importance of "Grandpa." Our good friend, Max, gave an inspiring and beautifully paced homage to his writing friend, Skip. Rianti (Lydia Rand) and Russell Bartley each spoke beautifully of their friend. Jean Pierre talked of our travels together and his long friendship with Skip and that dissolved me once more. Sheila Fetzer and her friend Bob Daley played gorgeous music and Sheila sang some of her own song to the delight of everyone. I thank all of these loves in my life and the many more who came to be with us that day from the bottom of my heart. I think we gave him a good send off for his journey to a new way of being.

(On the practical side, we have a little lost and found that contains a baseball cap with Australia embroidered on it, a pair of glasses, several round pans and maybe more. Call me if you are missing something. Tomorrow I will place the obituary on the blog as requested by several people).