Disposable Lives, II

Last night, I was talking to a friend about our "disposable lives." One of the things I do is design ceramic gifts and dining ware, that are manufactured in China and sold at low price points in big-box stores and gift shops. Lately, I've been questioning the merit of this work. In the age of Target and WalMart, we can afford to change our dishes, get new tchotchkes, sell old ones or put them up for adoption on freecycle.org, without a second thought. In contrast to our grandparents' treasured heirlooms that were revered, cared for, and passed down with a sense of history and folklore, now we have a never-ending supply of disposable trinkets. In our climate of cheap consumerism, are we loosing our appreciation of fine cratsmanship, and our veneration of objects that tell a story and connect us to our past? This may be the great, hidden cost of cheap goods.

Angels In The Hallways

On Friday night, the Ridgewood Avenue School (RAS) hosted a "Global Expo," featuring singing and dancing from around the world in the auditorium, a "Parade of Nations," with kids dressed up in clothes that reflected their heritage, and crafts and food from around the globe. There were many different cultures being celebrated in my town, which at first glance seems white and homogenized. At one point in the auditorium, Dalia, a lush belly dancer, writhed on the stage, while a mosh pit of screaming 9 - 12 year old girls danced along with her, squealing in delight. The juxtaposition of these knobbly kneed tweens, with their colt-like limbs, Hannah-Montana hairstyles and groovy clothes, idolizing a round, fleshy woman, made me smile. Could this one experience help some of these girls escape the body-image nightmare in which so many of us are mired?

Making this all happen was a team of parents, who had worked long and hard to plan, coordinate and carry out this event. I stood in the main hallway, watching excited children running from room to room, their energy crackling around them like sparks from 4th of July sparklers. Parents, weary from weeks of hard work, were virtually invisible to the happy children, but I saw their halos. They were the angels in the hallways, making school a happy paradise for one brief night.

Nikky Found

After nearly two weeks of not having seen Nikky, I began to think I might not see her again. After all, her family had no real reason to let me know her whereabouts. I tried to breath through my feelings of loss, and think back, instead, about how much I have learned from knowing her. But tonight, Nikky's daughter-in-law, Rita, called to let me know that Nikky is in a new residence, not far from where I live, where she receives 24 hour care. I can't wait to see her!

Where's Nikky?

I visited Nikky a few times in the hospital during the week she was there. Each time, she was more and more herself. The last time I was there, two of her granddaughters were there too. To them, she was not herself at all, and probably has not been for quite some time. To me, she was my angel, my "paysan," again.

The last time I went, she had just been discharged, and I don't know where she is now. She did not return to Walpan, and I have not heard from the director there, or her family. It is possible that I will never see her again. And why should I? I am not family, or even a friend of the family. I am just someone who found an angel, and will always have her with me.

Hindsight and Foresight

I almost never like pictures of myself at the time they are taken. The "me" that looks out of my eyes is in many ways the "me" from photos taken in high school and college, but with all of the wisdom of the 20 years since then. So I am always taken by surprise with the crinkles, wrinkles, and chronic fatigue that I see in new photos. I've noticed, however, that when I look at a photo from a few years ago, I like it a lot more than I did when it was taken. I think, "boy, I looked really good back then. How come I didn't realize it at the time?" And come to think of it, I wasn't that happy with myself in high school and college anyway -- always wishing I were a little thinner, a lot taller, that my hair was straighter, my waist smaller .... So maybe the trick is to always look at photos with the eyes of my future self. Because then, in hindsight, I'll look pretty damn good.

Disposable Lives

Today while searching for my reading glasses, I was struck by the disposable nature of our lives. My initial thought when I couldn't find the glasses was, "time to go on ebay and get some more." This is what I do periodically -- order about 10 pairs of readers and wear them until I've lost the last one. This means that in my house, car or the Costume Shop, there are about 40 pairs of glasses sequestered away -- behind dressers, under beds, in odd places like behind the baking soda in the pantry closet (truly - I once found glasses there ... I've even found them in the freezer). They keep good company with the stray socks, earrings, missing car keys, theater tickets, and sometimes cash that magically evade my best efforts to find them. After exhausting my patience searching, sometimes I wonder, are they lost or am I?

Here is a nice article about losing glasses. Time to go on ebay...

Gains and Losses

I have seen Nikki three times since my trip to Tulum. Each time, she was less present than the time before. She hasn't walked since before Christmas. She has been taking her meals in bed or in her chair, rarely leaving her room. When I visited on Friday, she seemed only an echo of herself -- barely acknowledging me, not responding to any of the usual songs or conversation that would ordinarily engage her. She was weak and disoriented, so much so that I went downstairs to tell Nick that I was concerned about her.

So I wasn't surprised to find out today that she had been taken to the hospital last night. Samy and I visited Walpan for Easter, and after spending time with Peggy and Julia, I went to Mountainside Hospital. Nikki's son Frankie was there. It was nice to put a face to the person I had heard so many stories about. And Nikki was much better. She had become dehydrated and the i.v. fluids were really helping. Still, she was so small and seemingly lost in her bed, which was vibrating to keep her from getting bed sores.

I wondered what Frankie made of me, this crazy woman who has become so attached to his mother -- a stranger she found wandering on Bloomfield Avenue. To me, meeting Nikki has been a great gift and a blessing. Having met her at the twilight of her life, when Alzheimer's has already mastered her mind, I have never had any expectations of her. For her son, watching his mother's memory slip away has been heartbreaking. The loss of recognition is tragic and and understandably devastating. It seems so unfair that when I look at Nikki, I see only what she has given me. But her son, who is so devoted to her, sees an unbearably cruel loss.