These are the harvest days here in North America.  The vineyards are turning colors, and I drive more slowly on my way to work as I observe the changing landscape.  We live in Sonoma County, California, and vineyards are plentiful.  My drive to work, to the local grocery store, to run errands, to drive for the sake of driving, is a time of contemplation.  I am thankful on these wanderings through the geography that is so familiar to me, to my family.

Yesterday was Halloween here in the U.S.  I ate little, went to work on a Saturday (because I needed to finish up some things of a timely nature), and thought of Nat and Owen throughout the day.  I thought of them in their younger years, I thought of Nat in the present (he spent his day painting the halls of the building in which I work), and I thought of Owen in memories, recognizing that there is a part of him that will always be Here with us.  I didn’t cry until I talked with Lea, and said, “Happy Halloween”.  Those words alone will take me to the place I miss Owen on Halloween, relegate me to the loss, diminish my resolve.  Too, those words, will make me smile and remember the frantic hours of costumes and excitement before the evening comes on October 31.  Near day’s end, I ate candy.  Harvest, of a personal kind.

I also thought of nature.  Just that.  What of the trees, the grasses, the insects, the birds, the small critters that lay wasted in the road –  victims to the overwhelming girth of oncoming vehicles, what of the rocks and dirt, what of the sky, the clouds, the sun, the moon, the stars?  I acknowledge them all.  I talk with them as though they know me, can hear my fare-thee-wells on my long and short drives through the countryside, my thank you’s for remaining visible, the urban mundanities of my days and nights.  To know them is to love them in their own experience of this particular physical reality.  Or, so I think when I’m alone, but not so all-alone, as I am among them. 

Sometimes I read about the historical events from different cultures surrounding this time of year, the holidays and celebrations that honor harvest, that honor the dead.  I find it uniquely odd that many cultures both honor sustainability and death in the same season.  Maybe that makes the most sense, the two extremes.  I’m not a very good student of history, it simply wouldn’t support my idea that time as we think of it, is more unknowable than real.  But, I do honor the harvest.  I do honor the dead.  I do acknowledge joy in times of abundance.  I do acknowledge a conscious realm outside of this physical one.

Ruby portrayed the “Queen of All Bad Witches” last night for her Halloween costume.  I was so happy that she could feel the hugeness of being a queen, and that she chose to be the queen of something that does not cause her fear – a witch.  She’s 6, so I’m not likely to delve into her choice of costumes as an investigation of whys and wherefores.  She has an imagination that takes her to places only she can know.  She’s an innocent, and she cackled like an old woman within a child’s sense of mystery throughout the event.  She took to the streets, parents in tow, and trick-or-treated as only a child can.  Complete abandon – joy in time and space – the mask of adventure, of imagination, on her face, in her heart, and in her soul.

I felt physically ill most of yesterday, recognizing that my own interpretation of reality, my own idea of consciousness, felt bereft.  I ate dinner with Dave late in the evening, and my sense of loss was relieved for a while.  I did not sleep well, I rarely do.  When I finally drifted off, I slept like a rock, and upon waking, knew that rocks want for rest, too.  

Some of us honor saints, known and unknown.  Some of us honor souls, here in our presence and outside of our knowing.  Some of us honor those things that we believe can sustain us in the here and now.  And, some of us honor…the unknowable.  I honor them all.  I honor you in your beliefs.

Owen loved cartoons.  He loved fantasy.  He loved those of us who do not fear our futures, our lives, our deaths.

Song for the night:  This is Halloween, Nightmare Before Christmas (I can’t watch this movie without smiling, laughing, at the old days…Owen loved this movie, this fantasy.  Ruby watches this movie now, heir to Nat’s and Owen’s love of fantasy.  Thank you, Anna, for recognizing Ruby’s love for the fantastical. )

Tough days, nights, and moments in between.  Friends and family are considering their options in the world of unemployment – too educated to work the carts at the local grocery story, too old to build houses, too sensitive to traverse the politics of corporate America – but they probably would, if prospective employers would give their resumes a second glance.  Oh, and too smart, too confident, too healthy to give up.  Ah, well, what would it cost to give up?

I’m employed, have a “good job”, and a fairly solid lifestyle – for the moment, anyway.  I don’t rely on today’s circumstances to help me feel confident about tomorrow’s unpredictabilities.  I’m not good at planning anymore.  Planning didn’t allow me to “allow’ for the unexpected, so I’m forever given over to surprises – good or bad.  I’m thankful that I know what I know, and constantly aware that I simply can’t know what I don’t know.  Helps me through the night sometimes.  

I hope my loved ones can stay the course, come out the other side, and say only this:  Whew, time after time, I hope for the best, and when I’m uncertain, I can take a WALK outside.  Neither nature, nor my memories will fail me.

Song for the night:  Walking in Memphis, Bruce Springstein  (Memphis may not be your town (nor is it mine), but walking down your streets might be a good idea – memory lane, vision quests of the urban kind, whatever, WALK, ya know?  Owen was neither a Springstein fan, nor a resident of Memphis, but he was…a walking man.)

So, I had this plan about maintaining this blog in the months/years to come.  It was simple and routine.  Ha!  What was I thinking?  Nothing about our lives with Owen was simple or routine.

I had planned on posting only on those important days – Owen’s birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving (maybe), Christmas (maybe), New Year’s Day (maybe), and in the months of May and June, anytime his spirit moved me.  Here it is, October 6, and I can’t hold back.  Just a note to say this…

It’s the autumn wind that makes me smile today.  In years gone by, this was the time of year when our family made plans for Halloween and the coming months of winter festivities and less light, except for the light we created in our home, and there was plenty, you know?  

Today, as I walked from one of the buildings to the next at my job, I noticed the air – the feel, the smell, the low, autumn light.  I walked outside in the comfort of my senses (they rarely fail me), and I was grateful.  I did what I do when I’m grateful – I smiled…a big, teeth-filled smile, and wondered if, indeed, I looked like a Jack-O-Lantern of days gone by.  I was certain I did, and it made me smile bigger, made me chuckle to myself.  I thought my lips might stick to my gums if I didn’t consciously close my mouth and start over.  So, I did.  I talked with Owen on my short walk, remembering what it was like to prepare for costumes and trick-or-treating.  I remembered when Nat and he would change their minds over and over about what character they might portray on Halloween.  Sweet times.

Lea and I took a short trip to New Mexico this summer (one of three trips during the summer months for me).  This photo was taken on a windy evening at sunset, a few miles south of Santa Fe.  I smiled then, too.  The wind in my face…Owen was with me, and it made me smile.

I probably posted this song at some time in the past, but the lyrics say what I need to say tonight.  I feel Owen in the wind.  Owen.  Oh-When.  Oh-Wind.  (“don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the Earth and Sky” and this slide:  peace, love & respect…WORD – I hear you, Buddy…and your message lives on.)  When I’m the most anxious, feeling the most grief, I long for the wind, and it greets me like a newborn.  Sweet times.

Dust in the Wind, Kansas

Today is Owen’s birthday.  He would have been 23.  Now, he is timeless.

Owen as art, 2005

Photo by Carla, thank you, my sweet friend.  This is one of my favorite photos of him, from a period in his late teens when he painted his face, his canvas.

I talked with Carla today as I was looking for a rose bush in a local nursery.  Owen and I used to go to King’s Nursery when he was a kid.  He always liked shopping for plants, playing in the dirt, picking out the spots for his plants, and watching them grow.  Tonight, when Dave got off work, he planted the white rose plant named “Honor” in our backyard. 

On Owen’s 14th birthday, I took him to a driving range (golf) in San Diego, where we were living at the time.  While he hit a bucket of balls into the distance, I sat watching him from the car.  I wrote in my journal about who he was at the time.  That journal is in one of my boxes of binders, having never been committed to the computer, so I can’t quote any of it now.  What I recall is this.  I was trying to describe him as living somewhere between reality and art, and in that invisible space where the two meet.

I spent most of today alone, up early watching the Food Network, dozing in and out of reality, and hoping to find something beautiful in my day – in the way of a survivor, the lucky ones, anyway.  A little over a month ago, Nat hung different paintings in our dining room.  They are Lea’s paintings, and we had just shipped those that were previously hanging there to Lea for an exhibit that began in May.  I found something beautiful today, the rose bush, and tonight when I walked from the living room to the kitchen, I paused in the dining room to say, “Hey, Beautiful” to the painting titled, “88 Days on Mercury”.  I was blessed twice.  This painting has special meaning to my family, as it is the piece Lea painted after a conversation between Karma, Lea, and myself – seemingly so long ago now.  In all of this, I realized, I was not alone.

88 Days on Mercury

It’s late, and I still have the makings of nachos waiting for me on the kitchen counter.  My birthday ritual for Owen is a dinner of nachos, a Coke, planting something in Owen’s honor, and my ever-present search for beauty.  Thank you, Lea, for your gift of this painting.

Nat, Anna, and Ruby are camping this weekend on the coast.  I missed them today, and I’m so happy they’re getting on with life.  I heard from Laura, Nat and Owen’s cousin, the one that reminds me so much of Owen – the commonalities, their faces, the way they move through the world – music, art, walking, writing, an attentiveness to things none of the rest of us see the same way.  Thanks, Lo, for emailing me.  Lea called me this afternoon when she was sitting outside Woods Coffee, doing the crossword, camera on the table but no energy to take photos.  She said all she wanted to say was, “Happy Birthday, Owen.”  Thanks, Lea.  It’s what I wanted to say, too.

Today, I heard from family and friends, I found a plant, I found art, I found beauty, I found music, I found nachos – and in those things…I found Owen again.

Susannah, mother of her recently deceased son, Jim, sent me this song today.  He was 22, a creative, sensitive young man with eyes that looked out onto eternity.  She found us here in May.  Thank you, Susannah.  I’ll think of Jim tonight when I light a candle for Owen.

Song for the night:  Keep Me in Your Heart, Warren Zevon (You’ll always be in my heart and in my head, Owen Riley)

watch?v=ECa_tzoUeIQ&feature=related

Two years ago tonight, Owen had what he called “the best night of my adult life”.  I wonder, how could he spend the best night of his life with friends in our home, and go missing within 48 hours?  Simple.  Because nothing is certain in this life.  The best of times, the worst of times…I hold onto the times in between.  But, for tonight, I’m committed to the past, and ultimately, to the future…

Dave and I are on vacation from work as of today at 5:30 p.m.  It doesn’t feel much like a vacation to me.  What I feel tonight is so far from “vacation” it’s almost an adventure into the forever-unknown…again.  That’s how I feel about life in general…all of it is unknown until it’s been experienced.  And, oh, there’s that part about “if you live it and no one knows, did it really happen?” (if a tree falls in the woods…).  One thing IS certain, Owen experienced his last days, people know, they were there, and they are still not sharing.  I won’t be able to live these memories without wondering how different things might be if those individuals did that thing they still cannot do – tell us what happened.  So I, we, live in the forever-unknown.  But, someday, someone will crack…someone will realize they have an obligation to LIFE, to share What Happened to Owen Riley.

Of course, almost every song on the radio tonight is a reminder that Owen’s life was something precious, something we hold onto, something we can’t imagine living without (but do), something we take into the future.  Pink Floyd (Consciously Numb), Lynard Skynard (Sweet Home Alabama), ELO, Paul Simon, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, Poison, Rolling Stones, Nirvana, Marcy Playground, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Beatles (Revolution – we all want to change the world!…freakin’yeah! – ha!), REO (it’s the end of the world as we know it)…I can’t recall everything we’ve heard tonight because Nat, Dave, and I are here on the patio, talking, remembering, crying, remembering, crying…on and on….

The night is young, but I am not.  I’m waiting to see the 4th star of the Big Dipper, then I’m off to bed.  My eyes have to work hard to see that dim star in the sky, the one that holds the ladle to the handle, the 4th star, the glue, Owen’s star, the dim, but integral star.  Oh, hey, the next song is:  ”You Really Got Me” by the Kinks.  And, by the way, I’m okay with that.  LIFE, ya really got me!

I’ve made it my life’s mission to live, love, and laugh, since you left us, Owen.  Really?  Weren’t you just here with me, saying, “Goodnight, Mumma, I love you.”  Two years ago, a lifetime.  So many have left us, so many are in our hearts.  I love you, Bubba.  Nat is here with me.   He keeps saying, “I know.  I know.”   He loves you still, always will, ya know?

Song for the night:

Song after THE SONG:

If you’ve actually scrolled down here, you might want to look at: Eye in the Sky, Alan Parsons Project (I can read your mind…looking at you, I can read your mind…):

Ha!  Who wouldn’t want to explore?  There’s plenty out there, ya know?  

This song takes on new meaning when I’m recollecting my past.  I saw the Stones back in the 70s, at the Forum in Los Angeles.  I’m thinking I went to that concert with my first husband, Danny, but really, I’m not sure.  I’m not sure about a lot of things in my past.  I just try to remember, and revel in the music as I hear it now, and as I remember listening to this song with my kids.  Good times. 

This thing I’m doing now, reconnecting with people from my high school years – weird, and awesome.  I think Owen would be right there with me, had he lived to see this chapter.  I’m watching Nat when I talk about those years, and I’m unsure about what he’s feeling.  He just wants me to stay connected in whatever way I can, and I honor his sentiments.  This is May, and he’s acutely aware of my own particular worm hole into the ethers, and his, to that place that Owen lives in our minds, to that place we see Owen laughing and making jokes about the world at large.  God, we miss him.

In talking with people from my past through emails and phone calls, I’m reminded that life is circular – all rolled into this thing we call the present.  The memories of my old friends are welcomed, but not necessarily the same as what I recall.  And, while it’s comforting on one level, it’s disturbing on another.  Where was I, really, when we were living those lives?

I ask the same question when I recall the times of our family together.  And, I’m glad to say, “I was there.  I lived those times with you.  I loved being a part of your lives.”

Song for the night:  Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones (I was about 14 or 15 when this song was released.  I have a special place for this song – part of it is attached to the movie, Interview with the Vampire.  Owen and I watched this movie together a bunch of times, and there was something there that we couldn’t articulate at the time.  Timelessness, maybe.  The idea of living beyond this life.  Whatever it was, we loved this song then…and now.)

After a few weeks of reconnecting with people from my past, I have nothing more than this…and everything else we knew together…I’m guarded by the angels.

Song for the night:  Citizen of the Planet, Alanis Morissette  (you would have loved this song, though you might have thought me…daft (one of our favorite words, ha!))

Ya gotta love today’s social media sites, if you’re even remotely interested in reconnecting with people you knew in high school.  Or, maybe you’re way on the other side, and find those sites handy for business and family, but can’t imagine looking  back as far as high school.  I get that.  If we didn’t stay in touch, what makes me think we have anything in common now?  Still, I’m on the side of reconnecting, and I’m loving the stories of the last 30+ years from friends I used to know.

First, I heard from someone I’d actually been good friends with in high school and for a few years after.  She found me on Facebook.  Her brother got sick a few days later, and we’re keeping up an email correspondence.  Then, one recent Sunday morning, she called me (we’d exchanged phone numbers).  Two hours later, I hung up, and was fairly exhausted.  The last time Laurie and I had talked, we were living in San Diego.  My mom and Owen were still alive, and life was rather routine compared with the last two years. 

The two year anniversary of Owen’s passing is coming up soon.  I’m not sure how it will hit me this year.  Talking about my family with Laurie felt so normal, until I got to the part about Owen dying at 20.  Her son was born the same year as Owen, so many similarities.  How do I respond?  With stories, of course.

Yep.  Life happens all around us, and within our own homes, and I’m here to tell those stories, too.  

Several other friends from high school have found me now.  Or, I’ve found them.  All good.  All too amazing.  The thing about reconnecting is that we share our life stories, all 30+ years of them.  That thing, that reconnecting thing…is that…well, you know…

My favorite word today is…cry.  Not because I’m so freakin’ mercurial, but because crying is so much a part of life whether or not you’re living in an open space such as this one.  And, so much a part of life within the confines of my car on the way home from an evening in San Francisco where I thought I might find something worth taking FORWARD.  I did.  Did you forget?  I’m one of the lucky ones.  Nat, Anna, Ruby, Dave, Lea, Emmitt, Karma, jeez, so many others are here to converge on our communal lives together, and I am so thankful.  Really, it seems to all come down to this…

Song for the night:  Cry, Baby, Cry, the Beatles (“can you take me back where I came from…)

Can you?  Where is it?  Home, which has most often been my family, my friends, and nothing more, lives in my heart and in my head.  That’s where I find peace.

I was a teenager when this song was released.  Late 60s, I think.  After Cream, if I’m not mistaken.  Nothing hit me in the gut like Steve Winwood’s voice back then (and still).  Add acoustic guitars, and a slow tempo…and finding my way home became my mantra.  The things that hit me there now, are, well, deeper, but with all the hope of those old days.   Nat, Owen, and I made a promise long, long ago, that if one of us left before the rest, we would always live thereafter in our hearts and in our heads.  That mantra lives within the walls of my heart and head to this day.  I love that safe, comforting, lovely place I call…home.

Two years and two days ago, I took two pictures of Owen at the desk where he planted himself most nights in our living room.  I didn’t know then, that those would be the last photos I took of him.  I used one of those pictures on the missing-person flyer we distributed around town in the days he was missing, a little over a month later.  The way he held the remote control to the TV, the way he sat in the chair, the page on the computer that shone in the background, the way…

Song for the night:  Can’t Find My Way Home, Blind Faith (Hey, Baby, you found your way home.  What’s it like?)

How often do you doubt that magic happens?  Yep, me too.  I always hold out hope, though, because once in a while, it actually does.  I’ve been fortunate to observe magic, and magic has been fortunate to accompany me on many journeys.

It did today.  Magic happened.  And, Dave, Lea, and I were on the phone together this evening to witness a magical event, a moment in time, when all the cogs clicked into place.  Serendipity, magic, call it what you will.

13 years ago, Lea had an art show in San Francisco.  This would make it 1996.  A gentleman, Zac, attended and wanted to buy one of her paintings.  They talked at length, as often happens at the convergence of artists and those appreciative of art, and Lea learned that Zac knew members of the Meat Puppets.  Lea agreed to paint some jackets for the Puppets for their upcoming engagements, and she gave Zac a painting in honor of the contact he’d afforded her.  

In February of this year, I sent an invitation to Zac for Lea’s art show in Malibu.  Yesterday, a package arrived for Lea, care of me.  When I told her about the package, she asked me to open it.  Dave went into the house to retrieve it, and tore the paper, bit by bit from the box inside.  As each piece slid out from the brown paper enveloping it, I narrated the opening of said package to Lea by phone.  Inside, were things of importance to Lea and Zac, but also a lengthy letter, and a money order.  Zac was paying Lea for the painting she’d gifted him in 1996.  This gift, this piece of magic, was unexpected, unbelievable to a certain extent…except that Lea’s life has worked this way since I met her in 1984.  We were once again aware that good deeds do, indeed, go noticed.

Right about then, Nat came home from a weekend at UC Berkeley, where he was part of the Model Arab League, an exercise for college students involved in political science and international relations.  He brought home an Honorable Mention from the 3-day event, along with a whirlwind of information and experience.  He was full of stories and exhaustion.  He was brilliant.  

As Dave and I sat on the patio, in the aftermath of our phone call with Lea, having just listened to Nat’s stories of the weekend, and with the contents of Zac’s package still lying on the table, I was aware of that thing, that indescribable thing that happens when we least expect it.  Magic.  I watched the sun dip behind the trees, enjoyed the butterflies dancing their evening waltz, and remembered a time when magic was an every day event.  I remembered when Owen’s laugh blessed our ears, blessed our souls, and I thanked him for reminding me that magic happens, and if we’re listening…it’s always on the rise.

Song for the night:  On the Rise, Meat Puppets (…how much salvation can my stomach stand…)