Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Bagels and 5k!
More race photos:
http://www.kreutzphotography.com/default.asp?LOC=%2FKPhoto%2FPhoto%5FViewTN%2Easp%3FDID%3D16%26GID%3D278%26IMG%3D1%26PAGE%3D1%26SRCH%3D196%26TYP%3DPUB
5Ks are painful painful squeezing chest heart attack races.
yuck.
I am no speedster, that's for sure
Thursday, March 04, 2004
Mimi is with Papa Again
Excerpt from Mimi's Funeral Program:
Mary Pierce was born on September 28, 1921 in Covington, Kentucky the first child of Cora and Louis Koenig. Mary’s birth was followed by her two brothers, Bob and Dick.
At 8 years old, Mary and her family left Kentucky and drove west with all their family possessions, first to Sacramento, California, later settling in Hollywood, California. It was there, in the 8th Grade at Bancroft Junior High School she met her future husband and forever love of her life, Bud Pierce. From that time, Bud and Mary were inseparable until Bud’s passing in 2000 a period of 65 years. During that time Mary, as loving wife and mother, supported her family during times of war (WWII and the Korean War where Bud served) and times of peace.
With Bud she raised three loving children, son Greg and two daughters, Kathy and Colleen. She was also blessed with 6 beautiful granddaughters, Megan, Nicole, Kelly, Shannon, Missy and Monique.
Mary and Bud created a very happy and fun loving home for their children and later their grandchildren, first in the house that they built in the San Fernando Valley in California, then later in San Clemente, CA, and finally in Auburn, CA. They also were able to spend some very happy final years at their place in Incline Village at Lake Tahoe.
Mary loved and enjoyed life, always wanting to meet new people in new places. She and Bud traveled the world in their retirement years always coming back to tell their family and friends of the far off places they visited. Mary also loved to read. She passed this passion on to both her daughters.
After her beloved Bud died, Mary continued on in Auburn for a while, but soon thereafter moved to Lake Oswego, Oregon to be closer to her daughter Kathy Somers. She died there on February 19, 2004 with Kathy at her side.
While Mary will be missed by her entire family, her passing is also joyful in that now after almost a 3 and a half-year separation, the longest since they first met, she has again joined the love of her life, her “Buddy Boy”.
Monday, February 16, 2004
The Same Day
We stand on either side of her, my mom and me. With washcloths and gentle strokes, we smooth down the loose, dry skin of my Grandmother Mimi's arms. I am careful of the dark bloom of an IV bruise on her wrist. Her nails are manicured, her eyes are sunken. A lifelong, self-proclaimed queen, she would have enjoyed this attention if she were more aware of our presence. She would have told us we weren't doing it quite right. The rich scent of orange peels and hyacinth flowers hang in the heated air of the hospice room. They keep it warm here, in this house of the dying. Quilts soften the walls and cover the frail, sleeping bodies. Sweet nurses wander through the rooms, disturbing no one, unless they are needed. A large, gentle dog thumps his tail on the carpeted floor. Behind the green curtain in Mimi's room, we are three generations connected by touch. I rub cream on Mimi's face. Mom dabs Vaseline on Mimi's lips. It is a moment of silence that pulls at the chest. And then her eyes open, and the demands begin again. An apple, crackers, more water, fresh water! That tastes terrible! Where's my juice? Find me some juice! Cranberry! We glance at each other, my mom and I, a shrug in my eyes. The drugs and the cancer have softened Mimi's brain but not her tongue. She is still the spoiled queen. The moment has passed.
Later.
They kneel on either side of me, the alteration lady and my mom. They pull at the sticky ruffles of my petticoat and smooth down the wrinkles of my wedding dress. I watch our three reflections in the floor length mirror. The stuffed garment bags hang above our heads, like bloated, white teardrops. The two women stand back, as I twirl in satin and lace. I adjust the straps and hold up my hair in a mock bun. I feel transformed. Until I see poking down beneath the hem, my ragged jeans and holey socks. Proof of what my sister wrote in my wedding shower book, "Congratulations Megan! Now you're all grown up! kind of..." Almost a princess. Still a bit of an awkward fifteen year old. The moment has passed.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Muerte Las Vegas
Ah Las Vegas, home to neon lights, beautiful copies of foreign architecture, and heaping mounds of buffet food. Ponyboy and I were in the city of sin for Martin Luther King weekend. What better way to celebrate one of this country's greatest nonviolent activist, then sitting in front of a casino machine, hypnotized and glassy eyed with fingers grey with nickel grime.
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Lots and lots o' Pictures!
Here's a few pics from my latest race, the Runtex 30K. Painful, windy and hilly. But fun!
http://www.brightroom.com/view_user_event.asp?EVENTID=3767&PWD=&BIB=333
And here's my racing team. Aren't we cute? (Mom, you have to click on the blue text to see the actual pictures.) You can play "Where's Waldo/Megan" with the above picture. Hint: You can only see my enormous forehead.
And here are some drunken, embarrassing ones, taken by our friend Kevin:
https://webspace.utexas.edu/rathgekm/www/photos/gruene.html
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
New Year's Party
Here's a few pics of the New Year's fun at the casa of Ponyboy and Baby Birdie. Boy, I'm obnoxious.
http://www.shannou.com/memories/newyears2003/
Images courtesy of my friend Shannon. She's the one in red!
Friday, January 02, 2004
Worn Migration
Every year, the holidays pull me from wing tip to wing tip. Sometimes I feel I am almost to the point of being torn in two. The holidays are when I fly back to my childhood home and family. Like the migrating birds, I return to the same place year after year. As the air grows cold, I am again drawn by the need of the familiar. Where I can slide back into my comforting roles as daughter, sister, high school friend. Where I can relax and breathe and sleep forever in the dripping, green, quiet of Oregon.
A social butterfly and busy bee in Austin, I am a peaceful, sleeping ant stuck in amber in Portland. I let go of all obligations to exercise, to errands, even to cleanliness. I feel no need to leave the house or the tight circle of my mom, dad and sister. I am warmed by the glow of the fire and the Christmas tree and the extended family who drop in for loud laughing dinners. I regress in age and run around the house with my little sister, knocking over plates and irritating my mom. I bring no clothes with me, and pad around until 5 in the evening in my mom's sweats and my grandfather's sweatshirt. I soak in every second with my family, who live so far from me.
This Christmas, I was forced to shed my uniform of pajamas and step outside the cozy hobbit home of my parents. The neighborhood ladies had decided to throw a wedding shower for me. It was a sweet gesture and a fun party. I've known these women since my junior high days, and babysat all of their children long long ago. The large mound of presents for me was as disconcerting as the sight of the "children" I used to babysit. They have now grown into beautiful tall women who now attend college. How did this happen? My old high school friends attended the shower as well. We are all now adults, one in graduate school, another expecting a second child. But it takes only ten minutes before we are reduced to giggly fifteen-year olds. We reminisce over our old awkward, embarrassing times in junior high. We groan over memories of all those home-made movies of beauty shows and lip syncs. Jeez, we were dorks.
And then, like every year, the holiday week passes quickly and I again find myself flying back south. The sun grows stronger and the temperature rises as I near the home of my choice, Austin, Texas. The city is a perfect fit for me and my love of music and outdoor exercise. It is where my beloved Ponyboy and old friends live. But no family lives near. And I feel their absence strongest when I am in the air between my two cities. I sit on the plane in a sort of purgatory of landlessness. I tell myself this limbo is the compromise one must make when one chooses to live far from one's clan.
It takes a few days before I again feel comfortably nestled into my nest of my new home, Austin. This year, my wistfulness for Portland and family was eased by the fun of a Texas adventure in the small town of Comfort. We journeyed there for the wedding of our friends, Summer and Chad. My memories of the weekend include chasing a pack of enormous turkeys down the street with a pack of small boys, the look of overwhelming joy on Summer's face as she walked down the aisle to Chad, and finally the late night drinking marathon with Ponyboy and the rockabilly wedding band that went on until the wee hours because of my drunken assertions that I could..outdrink...them..all.
We returned to Austin that Sunday evening and I am happily at home once again. I had successfully walked the tightrope between my two cities without being pulled to either side. I convince myself of the possibility of having two homes. Until there is word from Oregon of a horrible and unexpected tragedy striking the relatives of relatives. And I feel a sense of falling. Although my connection to the affected is separated by 3 degrees of relations, the remnants of pain reach me as well. And the miles between us all yawn wide. These are the times when the distance between my two homes stretches me thin, and my heart feels squeezed and sore.
