De Stijl My Beating Heart ~ or, In A Dream, Alys and van Doesburg Fall In Love While Walking Through An Indiana Forest By A River At Sunset In The Autumn

© 17 June 2016

Alys Caviness-Gober

 A month or so ago, I dreamed I painted this painting, and I just couldn't understand WHY because it isn't "my style" ~ it isn't ANY of "my styles". It's a style that my Dad loved, he loved this style of art and design. When I dreamed it, I thought to myself, "jeez, he should've painted it!" 

Still, the dream and the painting nagged at me, so a few weeks ago, I put some texture down on a canvas, because I figured, "I gotta make it MINE". Then I slowly started painting it. I always knew I would finish it today, the two-year anniversary of my Dad's stroke that led to his death six days later. 

So, here ya go, Dad, this one's for you. 

I call it, De Stijl My Beating Heart ~ or, In A Dream, Alys and van Doesburg Fall In Love While Walking Through An Indiana Forest By A River At Sunset In The Autumn ~ because I think that title would make my Dad laugh.

05 February 2015

Time Passes

Hiya Dad,

            Yes, time passes, and I have tried to allow some time to pass since last I wrote to you.  Why?  I do not really know.  I guess I was trying to let you rest, leave you alone a bit, and see how the days and weeks and months would feel.  Well, it's been okay, I guess.  It isn't really any different: I still "think" to you all the time and see you and feel you around, here and there, every day.  Writing it down or not writing it down ~ doesn't really matter.

            Christmas was hard, even worse than I thought it would be, but Aly was here and that made all the difference to me.  Mom did come over, and we did have a nice meal all together; we all kept it as light and happy as possible, whilst missing both you and Johnny.  It helped to know he was in Paris, with friends. He kept his promise to me: he sent me photos of his feet in your shoes: 

With Grandpa, outside the Louvre

With Grandpa, in Reims

      Honestly, he amazes me ~ his strength, his ability to adapt, his thoughtfulness.  When he sent the photos, he said, "with Grandpa."  He wears your sweaters a lot, especially for good luck ~ like the day he wore his favorite of your sweaters for one of his big presentations.  He's told me that he thinks of you always, but especially when he is really happy or really sad ~ and he knows that in those moments, those highs and lows, he is comforted that you are always with him. 

            Dad, I know you are also with Aly ~ you  know that the winter season for her has always included the films awards season.  She told me this year, she isn't excited for the awards shows or planning to watch any of them, because always in the past she had you to talk to about the movies, the nominations, and the awards.  She cried when she told me; Aly is so stoic, but your loss breaks her in two.  She will be alright, you and I know both know how strong she is; it is just so hard for me to see her hurting. We went to a movie together, just the two of us, to sort of honor the love of movies that we three share, to sort of replace all the awards shows stuff "for" her, and just to have a little time together (she is so very busy these days!).  The movie was a pretty good biopic, not really remarkable, but in a way the perfect movie for us to see "for" you, for do the three of us not all love Christoph Waltz?  It was a good day, Dad; we were as happy as we could be, mostly because we were together and you were so very with us.

            The day after Christmas, everything turned upside down ~ you know Jamine. You know what she did.  You know how Mom is; you know her reaction.  Jamine's cruel timing, her insanity, are no surprise to me; Mom just isn't ever wary.  It is so bizarre to me that she simply believes whatever she hears, from anyone.  She questions nothing and has no intuition of her own.  Dad, all those years with you did her no favors in that department; she truly has trouble thinking "for" herself.  She does not know how to NOT listen, even to crazy people.  Mom is most notorious for believing ANYTHING Jamine and Charlie say to her ~ they are the most like you in personality, and I know that is Mom's comfort zone, but god it is annoying.  I am constantly pulling Mom back from some crazy edge Charlie or Jamine have led her to ~ now,  Jim, Phil, and I are still dealing with the fallout of Jamine's Christmas night actions, and of course the burden is mostly on me because I am the one that is here.  It is okay, Dad, you know that I will sort it out and Mom will be okay.  You also know that she is going to  forgive Jamine and still want us all to "be sweet to each other" and you also know that I will not bend.  So, help me out in the future, when Mom pretends everything's fine, when she wants Jamine and me to be together for some occasion ~ help me out, Dad.  Help me get Mom to realize that I will not, ever, spend time with my sister. Hopefully, Mom will be able to leave me alone about Jamine; the years and years of crapola from her have just worn me down and this last thing is the proverbial straw for me.

            January came and went with its usual bitter cold gray days. Winter is hard ~ no way to while away time puttering in the yard or anything like that ~ the cold makes life so confining.  I can report that I was juried into the Hamilton County Artists' Association as a painter  in January ~ one of those "bright moments" to which you so often referred. This year promises to be busy for me insofar as my art and writing go; I have so many projects in mind, and some actual deadlines and events upcoming ~ you know, Dad, life goes on, right?  Nevertheless, life is changed, life feels different to me; I'm still waking up every day feeling like yesterday was 23 June 2014.  It takes me a minute to realize that almost eight months have passed.  There are still, every day, so many things I want to tell you, so many things I want to share with you, so many things I want to show you.  Some days are harder than others.  I wrote this poem and painted this painting on 23 January 2015, the day that marked seven months after your death:

Cornflower Blue

A simple weed along a roadside

or sprinkled through a field;

you called them bachelor buttons,

and their color matched your eyes,

we'd race to see who'd spot one first

~ for you ~

scanning across browns and greens

and pinks and yellows

for lone blue blossoms

proud and bright atop

long gray cobwebbed stalks

so tough and wiry,

resisting the farmers' scythe

like steel covered in soft down,

bolstered by perfectly placed leaves

painted by nature's Vermeer,

each star-like blossom supreme,

rising head and shoulders above the other weeds;

my eyes automatically dart

left to right as I drive on,

and the old tunes play on;

 Billie mournfully sings

one of your favorite songs

(Mandy is two

you ought to see her eyes

of cornflower blue)

humming along I still scan

the weeds along the roadside

tumbled and jumbled together

all the browns and greens

and pinks and yellows,

still I search

for a bright spot of cornflower blue

as if I'll see you again;

they were always your favorite ~

you loved them

because they looked like you.

           

            So you see, some days are harder than others; if for me that is true, then it is a thousand times more true for Mom. I do not get over to see Mom as much as I should ~ winter is tough on my lungs; breathing the very air is painful ~ but, I also have not made the effort as much as I should, to go visit her.  I know she needs company, but I also know she needs to learn to be alone.  Right now, "alone" equates with "lonely" for her.  I hope she can overcome that feeling; what a hard change for her.  I do worry about Mom because she hasn't discovered anything yet to fill her hours, her days, her weeks.  Spring will get her out in the yard, of course, but she needs an interest, a hobby, a passion.  She also needs to be out among people.  That 60-year lifestyle of spending time with "only Cavinesses" ~ only her children, only her grandchildren, only YOU ~ is now her greatest enemy. I look forward to Spring, if for no other reason than the fact that it will just be easier for me, easier for her, to get out and about more often.

            Well, Dad, I best get on to my day ~ some laundry, some painting, and an afternoon bodrhan lesson. Do you think it is funny that I am trying to learn to play the Irish drum?  I certainly find it amusing, because I have very little natural musical ability ~ VERY little.  Still, I like the physical expression and sound ~ it is a wonderful way to express something artistic in a more out-of-my-self manner.  Sound, rather than the silence of painting.  It is a therapy of sorts, as well. It is a healing of sorts; it brings our Irish and Welsh ancestors to me. Anyway, I shall get on with my day.  I love you.  I miss you.

Love,

Alys

23 December 2014
Six Months
Hiya Dad,
    Well, here it is ~ a day I have dreaded. I have to say that I wish I could just be home alone today and cry. Christmas is in two days, and Mom will come over, as will Aly and Evan, for our Christmas Feast, and Johnny will be with his friend Valentin's family in Rheims, France. Dad, he has been in Paris since yesterday. Amazing. He knows you were there 60 years ago ~ he took your shoes to walk around in the city, to see the sights you saw, to stand where you stood. Here is his photo of the Eiffel Tower.

    I am so proud of him, Dad. We were trading photos and messages last night, because while he was seeing Paris for the first time, Phil and Gilda and Charlotte came up and we all went on The Polar Express Train here: Phil and Gilda and Charlotte and Aly and Evan and Mom and Cris and me. Of course, Johnny's photos from Paris were a little more incredible than our Fishers-to-Noblesville ones! One of the Conductors played guitar and led the traincar full of people in singing Christmas songs ~ our favorite was when he played "Feliz Navidad". I thought of you, Dad, because you brought home that old first "Jose Feliciano record that I grew up loving so much; without that record, his Christmas song would not be so special to me ~ I loved it because I loved that old first album of ballads. So, thank you for Jose Feliciano, Dad.
    After the train ride and dinner at El Palenque, I went back to Mom's and played Monopoly with Phil and Mom and Charlotte until almost midnight ~ Charlotte won: she had hotels on Park Place and Boardwalk. I lost "last" but man, her Boardwalk's $2000 rent wiped me out. I'll see Phil and Gilda and Charlotte again today at Mom's. It is a good thing, I guess, because otherwise I would just stay home and be sad ~ it is crazy, really, for me to feel this way. I know you are so much happier now, Dad, and I know Johnny is okay, and Aly is okay, and Mom is okay, and Jim and Phil are okay ~ it isn't anything like that, it is just that I am sad. I am just sad that you are no longer here in this world, with me. You were a crazy strange difficult person, but you were my Dad, and I miss seeing you. I miss kissing the top of your head hello. I just miss stupid things.
    You know, of course, that I had a pretty bad pneumonia a couple weeks ago. Thank you so much coming and sitting with me for a little while that Thursday. When I first felt your hand on mine, I thought it was Aly, stopping by home on her way to Evan's ~ you and Aly are the only ones with those always-warm hands. But after a few minutes, even with a fever, I knew it was you, not Aly. When I opened my eyes, there you were, sitting on the edge of my bed, just holding my hand and giving it a little squeeze every once in a while ~ exactly as I had done for you that last week in the hospital when you were on life support. Dad, you are getting more see-through, so I know you might be letting go a little bit more. That's okay of course, but it was really great to see you; I hadn't slept for over 24 hours because of the fever, and it was so nice to have you there with me. You just sat with me like that for a while, then suddenly the scent of Grandmommy's Emeraude came into the room, and you squeezed my hand so tight, so hard for about a minute, and then you both were gone. I fell asleep almost immediately ~ so thank you both for coming and helping me to go to sleep. Right before I fell asleep, I remember thinking how happy I was that you and Grandmommy are together.
     Dad, I do not know how I will get through the next few days, these Christmas days. I really am okay with my little children now being grown and wonderful adults with lives of their own ~ I really am okay with Aly being an adult child who simply comes over on the Holidays to share a meal with her parents. I am so happy and proud that she is such a wonderful grown up woman. Yet inside my happiness at seeing my children so well grown, I feel the loss of their smallness so deeply and it simply echoes the loss of you. It is just a hard time for me right now, these Christmas days. You know me, Dad, I'll be okay, I'll persevere. Anyway, I just want to say that "I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas, I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas, I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas, from the bottom of my heart . . ." Feliz Navidad, Dad, Feliz Navidad.
Love,
Alys

23 October 2014

The Places Where You Were

Hiya Dad,

            Well, four months have passed.  Dad, I guess we've come a long way ~ I'm out and about a lot more, Johnny's doing well in Germany, Aly's perking along like the trouper she's always been, Mom's move is done, other things are slowly getting back to normal, I guess.  Honestly, what the Hell does that phrase even mean?  What is "getting back to normal"?  Is normal this "Robot Alys" who doesn't sleep (yep, still) and tries so hard to "keep on the sunny side" for Mom?  I told her yesterday that I know we have to get to the point where we don't see each other every day, because we need to get back to "normal," right?  She's moved, she's happier there, but I don't know if she's really okay through every long damn day.  It isn't easy to get back to normal ~ and I'm not sure what normal is anymore.

            Is normal feeling like plastic when I'm in public, like my face and my words are some plastic doll's face and words?  If that's normal, then I'm there.  Is normal feeling like a shell of myself when I'm alone, like there is a great emptiness within that all the sunshine and beauty in the world cannot even begin to fill?  If that's normal, then I'm good.  Is normal feeling like my heart's caved in when I see the emptiness of all the places where you were ~ the chairs you sat in, the rooms you walked through, the roads you ran on, the projects we worked on side by side ~ all those places are there in my mind's eye, but you are missing from them and I feel your loss sharply.  Is the sharpness of loss normal?  If it is, then I'm whole. 

Love,

Alys

16 October 2014 
Happy Birthday, Dad

Hiya Dad, 

     Today's your birthday; you would have been 81 today. It's the crack of dawn, of course ~ I'm still not sleeping much. Any other year, I'd be looking forward to seeing you on your birthday. I would've gone to your house to have lunch with you and Mom, and I probly would've taken you some treats, like tootsie rolls and pistachios and maybe some peanuts in the shell. Perhaps I would've painted you something. I'd have hugged you in your chair and said, "Happy Birthday, Dad! I love you!" and kissed you on the head.  We'd have had lunch, with Mom flitting about, never quite sitting down to eat with us.  We'd have talked about my art projects, about what Aly's up to and where she's looking into PhD programs and how Johnny's adjusting to life in Germany.  You'd have been happy to hear how they're both doing, and you'd have nodded your head at me as I rattled on about them.  I wish I could tell you all their goings-on, about the PhD programs that Aly's interested in and how her classes are going now and what projects she is working on and I know you'd love the fact that she's running a comic book club for little kids, and about how happy Johnny is and that he's adjusting well and that he loves his classes and I know you'd love the fact that he's growing and learning so much on his own ~ you'd be so proud of them both, Dad.  It is hard for me to not be sad, because I am selfish and I miss you, and I know that this year, this birthday, I won't see you or hug you, or tell you about Aly and Johnny. 

      I'm going to spend the day with Mom, of course. We're both determined to celebrate your life and not mourn your death.  We'll go to lunch and then go back to her house to have cheesecake in your honor.  Oh, speaking of her house, you'll be glad to know that yesterday her Georgia-red counter tops got installed.  She cried from happiness, remembering the ones in Georgia and being so happy to have the back with her here, in Indiana, in the house she loves.  Remembering is a double-edged sword.  For her, everywhere she looks, everything she sees, is part of remembering you, from Oregon to San Diego, in Georgia, in the house here, everywhere. Mom grieves for you, but her memories also comfort her. This day will be hard for Mom, but I will try, Dad, I will try to keep my own emotions in check and help her to be as happy as she can be today.   I don't want to be sad on your birthday. My day has just begun, with tears and this letter; I promise to put up a good front for Mom today. 

      Dad, I wish I could tell you about my altar.  A few days ago, I found out Nickel Plate is having a Dia de Los Muertos celebration all day on November 1st.  They are including homemade altars in the exhibit; I am making an altar for their event.  The altar is really for you, Dad.   I know you did not want a funeral service or an obituary, but I know you would love a Dia de Los Muertos altar.  You and I both love Calaveras and Day of the Dead stuff; our "Mr. Bones" collections.  I'm using a lot of your things on the altar, and I'm using the top of your rainbow "sushi table"; Mom gave it to me about a week ~ really, she insisted I take it, saying that I "had to have it" even though I was not sure what to do with it.  You know the last thing I need in my house is another "coffee table" but at the time, that's all I could think to do with the piece: make a coffee table by attaching legs. 

      Anyway, Mom insisted I take it.  Who knew that a week later, I'd be making a Dia de Los Muertos altar and that your rainbow slab would be the perfect altar top??  I guess YOU knew, so that's why Mom gave it to me.  I've made legs for it; I'll attach them tomorrow and then start arranging the items I've chosen.  The back of the altar will be that board, the movie poster piece from my bed, that you used in the linen closet of Tower Court some 30-odd years ago ~ celebrating your love of movies and my love of movies and the whole Tower Court story.  I'm so happy to make this altar for you, Dad.  I'm calling it "Somewhere Over The Rainbow."  I'll put things on it that you loved, the Joker and Frankenstein, and your Cornel mug, and the mug with Aly's and Johnny's picture on it, and some of your old paintbrushes, and some Navy things, and your purple gloves.  Remember that clock I gave you when you retired, with the Latin inscription?  Mom gave that clock back to me last week; I'll use it on the altar because I believe now, finally, "tranquility is yours".  I stopped the time on the clock at 3:45, Dad. 

      I'm using your little skullcap hat and your black round-rimmed glasses that you loved so much; I fixed the broken part of their frames, Dad.  I painted the skull you gave me, the one that has forever been on my hearth; I put blue "gems" in the eye sockets because I know you would not want them just black and empty.  I used a lot of your favorite color orange, in the Calavera skull design, Dad, and your hat and glasses will be on that skull.  I chose photos of you that I know you like.  I'll put your big bottle of Bootles gin on it, and some pistachios and peanuts in the shells and tootsie rolls ~ for your Dia de Los Muertos journey.  It is a labor of love, creating this altar, and I am so happy to do it for you, but I have to tell you, Dad, that I cried and cried when I came home from the store with my bags of treats to scatter on the altar.   I cried because, of course, those are the very things I would've taken to you today, for your birthday.  That fact just didn't really hit me until I got home.  It broke my heart to realize that I cannot ever again on your birthday give you some treats like pistachios and tootsie rolls and peanuts in the shells.  I love you, Dad.  Happy Birthday. 

Love, 
Alys

P.S. Here is a poem I wrote for you.

Distance and Death

There were those years of distance

that cast a shadow between us,

when long dark roads divided us,

and our town was not home

for me;

those years fall away

and now,

the unrelenting distance

of death

casts a deeper shadow

yet always

you are with me ~

in our beloved town,

I see you standing

just across the street,

on a sidewalk hazy

in the last of summer's heat;

I'm working on some project,

thinking, 'I just cannot do it',

then I feel your hand resting

gently on my shoulder,

I hear your encouraging whisper,

"You can do this, Alys";

as I fall asleep,

I hear you calling my name

as if we are still

just across from each other

in that old living room,

and I stay awake to listen;

with dawn's first cup of coffee,

I remember

the first coffee I ever drank

~ bitter, sweet, and creamy ~

was with you.

In the smallest of things,

I remember you.

08 October 2014

Under The Blood Moon

Eclipsed,

the moon loses itself

and fades into orange,

molested by the sun's overbearing light,

on the far side from me;

Everyone loves the Blood Moon.

But I just want the moon back,

I want to know it is there,

when I look up ~

shining glowing whitely

against the night sky

or hovering softly

with the morning's first breath,

I want to know it is there,

whether or not I look up ~

as familiar as your face in the window.

Everyone else loves the Blood Moon.

Hiya Dad,

             I found out yesterday that I am not crazy and ghosts are real.  Of course, I knew both those things already, but sometimes it is nice to get confirmation.  I know you never really believed me when I told you some of my "ghost" stories ~ when Dedo and Grandpa Al came to my hospital room when the kids were born, the breath of Emeraude that wafted past me the day that Grandmommy died, Baba's yellow rose, and all the dead and dying lying in the field at site of The Battle Of New Orleans.  I know you never believed in any hocus-pocus. You must be kinda mad to know now, right? 

            I've seen and felt ghosts of all kinds my whole life ~ some of them are familiar and known to me and some are strangers, unknown to me.  Maybe they know me somehow or they have some connection that I do not understand ~ perhaps to a geographical place or a physical thing.  I've seen you so many times, usually in the little laundry room window or standing very still at the side of a doorway ~ you said you never wanted to leave that house, and I guess you meant it.  Dad, I found out yesterday that Jim and Charlie have seen you, too, so I guess that's pretty good confirmation.  It's funny, I feel you so completely as a well and whole spirit at Tower Ct ~ like the you that exists now has dropped Ego and all of the pretense and all of the posturing and all of the need for superiority, like you are finally really completely whole and happy and above all those negative things that dragged you down all your life.  I feel you that way, so completely, at Mom's new old house ~ I feel you there, so absolutely and purely happy that it is HER house.  You were right there every step of the way, guiding my hand to turn that handle, helping the boys do everything, helping me put in all the flooring go into the crawl space and everything else; I felt your hand on my shoulder as I wrestled with your panty shelves and I was about to give up ~ you put your hand there and whispered, "you can do this, Alys." You are there.  I'm so glad you are a completely whole spirit there, Dad, that you are truly "resting in peace" and contentment and you have no more need for all that horrible baggage you toted around forever when you were alive.  I am so glad it is all gone from you and you can just be.  There, at Tower Ct, you are free.

            At Herriman, I guess the last part of who you were in your lifetime, the last bit of the old you, is hanging on and that's okay with me ~ if you want to stay there forever, that's okay.  Someday, I won't be sad when I catch a shadowed glimpse of you in the window or a doorway or at the top of the stairs.  Someday, it won't hurt this much.  Don't stop, Dad, because despite the grief, I'm glad you are there, too.  Please stick around as long as you want to, because I do actually see you there ~ there, you are still a little frail and a little sad, but you are there, with your know-it-all smile, because you are doing exactly what you wanted: never leaving that house.

I love you.

Love,

Alys

07 October 2014

The Move

Hiya Dad,

            Well, I'm happy to report that we got Mom moved this past Saturday, as planned.  It was a cold, windy, threatening-to-rain day, but we did it in about five loads, using my van and the trailers that Charlie left at Herriman Friday night.  The first two loads were trailers full of the big stuff (furniture) and my van full of as much as I could pile in it.  Phil and Cris did the first and third trailer loads alone; Charlie helped with only the second load of furniture (I had to text him to ask for his help ~ apparently "knowing" Saturday was "Baba's moving day" did not mean much to him, but he was moving more of their things into Herriman that very afternoon and completely moved in by Sunday).  No trailers after the third load ~ just my van for all the "smalls".  Because Cris and Phil were busy at Tower setting up beds, furniture placement, and stuff like that (Cris also set up the computer stuff), I loaded and unloaded my van all day; that was quite tedious by the third load because Mom didn't really have enough boxes.  She had a lot of things in those crazy little plastic buckets (they did work, but they are so SMALL!) ~ there must have been 100 of those buckets.  The last load was pantry and refrigerator food.  Cris and I got home around 11:00 that night; I broke the Department 56 snowbaby with the crescent moon ~ but, that was the only thing we broke.  Not bad, really.

            After Phil and Cris and I unloaded the first load, I zipped over to the Farmer's Market to get Bob's bouquet of flowers for Mom ~ I placed them on the dining room table at Tower Ct (we had left Mom at Herriman to continue her packing).  When she came to Tower Ct, and saw the flowers and read Bob's card, she cried.  Happy tears, mostly, at his thoughtfulness and well wishes.  I've had the money for the flowers and the card for about a month; he sent them to me as soon as he knew she would have back Tower Ct, and asked me to get her the flowers for her moving in day.  That is your friend Bob, Dad ~ he is a nice man.

            Gilda and Charlotte came in the afternoon: Gilda completely painted the trim and cabinet in the middle bathroom ~ she did a great job, all white and the cabinet has black detailing hand-painted freehand by her.  She even painted the handles and hinges.  It looks awesome.  Charlotte brought lots of rice krispie treats and watched DVDs while we moved; she was patient and good.  She is such a sweet little girl.

            Of course, Comcast screwed up the internet/telephone account transfer ~ I spent hours on the phone Saturday and Sunday and even Monday morning trying to get all that fixed ~ late Sunday was when I figured out that they had changed Mom's phone number.  Yes, the phone number she's had for 39 YEARS.  That was a crushing blow.  However, I was determined to try (Monday) to get her old number reinstated.  Calls to Comcast on Monday morning did not work; so I took Mom to the one Comcast "store" in Indianapolis and a woman named "Yokeshia" helped us ~ she redid the transfer and gave Mom BACK her original phone number, thank god.

            For the rest of the day, Mom felt very celebratory, and I took her to get the last few things Phil needs to finish up some repairs/renovations (he's coming up tomorrow), and to purchase a few things like door mats and shower caddies.  All good, all happy.  I was so very relieved she is moved, and she is so much happier at Tower Court.  Still, to be honest, I do not feel happy inside: relieved, yes.  Isolated moments feel happy, but Dad, I miss you and I miss Johnny; I still cannot separate the two of you.  Johnny is doing really well in Germany; he started his Library job this week, he has friends, and he is happy (a little homesick, sure, but he is adjusting so very well to being there).  I just miss you both, it is hard to NOT feel "loss" quite intensely.  I hope the intensity fades, but at this point, I'm still not sleeping and I am so very tired in a way that is hard to describe.

            I started two new paintings ~ that always helps me feel better; this one is so far called, "Untitled Landscape in Yellow and Purple" but it isn't finished yet.  

I'm using your canvases.  I miss you.

Love,

Alys