Tag Archives: pennies

It’s Been a Year

14 Tuesday Feb 2017

Posted by in culture, death, dementia, family, gratitude, kindness, Uncategorized

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Sorry to have been missing for awhile, peeps. February 5th was the anniversary of my dad’s death, and I’ve kind of been hiding a bit. It was both harder and easier to deal with than I thought it’d be. It doesn’t feel like a year. A year. It still feels pretty damn fresh. To mark the anniversary, I went up to VA and met my mom out at the property we used to own. We’d okayed it with the current owner, who’s a really nice guy. We took some of my dad’s ashes down to the railroad tracks and scattered some there.

ashes-on-tracks

Then we headed into the flatwoods that have a lot of meaning to me, and were pleased to discover that the current owner also thinks it’s a special place. He left the jars there, undisturbed, set up some chairs facing the creek and added a little fire pit. Mom and I scattered more ashes into the creek and hid a couple pennies.

The next day, my mom and S and I went out to the cemetery to inter the rest of the cremains. They installed a nice bench under a huge old tree, and we put the box of ashes in and placed a penny with the word “thanks” written on it. When they put the top of the bench back on, we said a few words of thanks and placed a couple more pennies, then, since it was an absolutely gorgeous day, we wandered the cemetery and visited the graves of some friends and family that also reside there.

penny-for-nick-thankscemetery-bench

Was it hard? Yes. I miss my dad’s hugs so much – even the ones he gave towards the end of his life when he was a little stinky. There’s a finality to interring those ashes – the nail in the coffin, as it were. But there was also something healing in finally closing that chapter. There is nothing left to do now. There’s nothing hanging over our heads that needs to be done to take care of him. That’s a weird feeling, after so many years of making him our lives. There’s also some comfort in having somewhere to go if I desperately need to visit, though I doubt I’ll do that much. It’s time to move on.

So now it’s time to focus on the book. More on that soon. For now, though, thank you to everyone who helped us get through the last year since his death. It’s appreciated more than you know.

Kindness Visits the Danube

16 Tuesday Aug 2016

Posted by in culture, death, dementia, gratitude, kindness, Uncategorized

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So, I want to talk about two acts of kindness I experienced on my trip down the Danube with my mom. But first, I want to share the way that we brought my dad along on the trip with us. As you know if you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, I associate pennies that are heads side up with my dad (complete explanations here here here and here), so we decided to leave pennies around the cities we visited to spread cheer and luck and “make someone verrrrry happy!” #penniesforNick

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But as I mentioned at the start of the blog, I wanted to talk about two acts of kindness, one that was given to me, and one that we were able to perform. The first night on the boat, we settled in for 50’s and 60’s rock night in the lounge with the boat’s piano player. The first tune, while not all that meaningful to me, induced half of the audience to get up and use the dance floor. And again, if you’ve been reading this blog for the last couple years, you know that one of the things I miss most is dancing with my dad. So I teared up watching everyone. I took deep breaths, drank some water, and tried to let it go, singing along to all the songs (based on my knowledge of 50’s and 60’s lyrics, I’m actually about the same age as the majority of the passengers – who knew?). Then the piano player started “When I’m 64,” which choked me up again, because I remembered when my dad played his favorite version of it (Connie Evingson’s) and we were at the beginning of trying to find out what was wrong with him, and he had just turned 65 so the song had taken on a new meaning. But again, I fought through and got Mom to get up and dance with me to it. I was determined not to let it get the best of me. The piano player was equally determined to reduce me to a puddle bourbon-y ooze, though. He played “Yesterday,” which I had performed my first year of college for a showcase with some friends, one of whom was killed by a drunk driver the following year. But still, I held it together. Mostly. But then, oh then, he went into “See Ya Later Alligator.” Are you freaking kidding me?! It’s not like it’s that common a song that I should have expected it. I was undone by it. I ran out to the deck and hid on the stairs and sobbed. Mom came out after a minute or so to check on me and helped me breathe. Until, we heard the music inside turn to “Unforgettable,” you know, the song Natalie Cole sang with her dead father from the first jazz CD my dad ever gave me? I mean really. There was no hope at that point, so we retired to our room.

The next morning, one of the other passengers, who looked like Cameron Diaz by the way, set a notebook that said “Happy Thoughts” on the cover next to me at breakfast, gave me a quick hug, and walked off to eat. Inside, she had written a note about losses she had suffered over the years (including 3 brothers and a husband, and she was only 50) and how she looked for life’s “tender mercies,” seeking out the good that’s still in the world and recording it in a journal like the one she was giving me. Little did she know, I do the same thing. Kindred spirits. When I went out to tour the next day, I found a new blank journal and gave it to her so she wouldn’t be without one on the trip.

So that was the first act of kindness we experienced.

The second one we were able to do for someone else. At several meals, we sat with two women who were really friendly and with whom we had a fair amount in common. On the second to last night, one of them divulged to my mom that she had brought her partner’s ashes with her to scatter somewhere, but hadn’t figured out how and when to do it, and she was running out of time. Mom and I had a small balcony off of our room, so we offered it to her to use. It had rained all evening, but the rain had stopped. It was cool out and there were lightning flashes in the distance, and we were cruising down the Danube past sleepy little villages. So we vacated the room and let her take the time she needed. She seemed relieved when she emerged. I think worrying about how to do it had been weighing on her. But she was able to let that piece of her partner go and know she had fulfilled a promise. And I was grateful to her for trusting us to be, in a tiny way, a part of her journey forward on her own.

I love the phrase “life’s tender mercies” that my shipmate used in her note to me. I love those unexpected kindnesses that can pop up half way around the world. I love that being kind to a stranger is still something worth doing and something that makes you feel good, too. In all the sadness of the past year, I’m grateful that love springs forward from the most unlikely of places. And so we continue on on our own journeys, looking for the light and the lucky pennies.

A Little Father’s Day Help

17 Friday Jun 2016

Posted by in culture, death, dementia, family, gratitude, Uncategorized

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Hey all you fabulous peeps out there, I’m requesting a little help. As you know, Father’s Day is on Sunday, and, well, I’m in a downright panic. This will be my first fatherless Father’s Day. I want to do something to honor my dad, but I also don’t want to leave the house for fear that I’ll see dads with their daughters and I’ll lose my shit in public. So I’d like to ask you all for a favor. If you feel so inclined, please put a penny (heads side up) somewhere for a stranger to find, and snap a quick picture of it (with or without your lovely face next to it). Then email it to me at info@emilypageart.com or post it to my Facebook page. Thank you in advance for your awesomeness. You may now return to your regularly scheduled program.

Pennies From Heaven

30 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by in art, death, family, gratitude, husband, painting, Uncategorized

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This weekend, my mom came down to visit. Now that she doesn’t have to take care of my dad, she can travel more, so we’ll be taking turns visiting each other instead of me always driving up there. On Sunday, we got together with family for lunch. As we were sitting down to eat. S found two lucky pennies on his chair. No one knew where they’d come from, but for me, it made it feel like my dad was there with us. After lunch, a couple of the adults went out to hide Easter eggs for my cousin’s toddler. To distract said toddler while they were doing it, I taught him how to hide heads-up pennies and say, “This is going to make someone verrrrry happy!” And so the tradition continues.

Also this weekend: I sold TWO realist paintings. The first was the Saxophone painting. It went to a friend, which makes me really happy. It’s hard saying goodbye to pieces that are meaningful to you, and with my dad being a sax player and with my mom and I having used the painting as the front of our thank you cards to everyone following the memorial celebration, this piece means a lot to me. Knowing that it’ll be with someone I know and like who plays music, too, made it easier to let go. The other piece was the Violin head painting. That one went to a stranger, which gives me a little thrill. It’s exciting when your work goes to someone who doesn’t even know you, because you know it’s really about the piece itself, so it’s validation of your work.

So, all in all, a good weekend. And on my walk today, I found 4 lucky pennies and a 4-leaf clover. It must be my lucky day. Yay pennies! Yay art!

Reduced to Tears By a Penny

28 Friday Aug 2015

Posted by in dementia, gratitude

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Just when I thought the universe couldn’t bitchslap me any harder, I see this:

penny on chair

Now for most of you, this would mean nothing, but to me, it’s super meaningful. My dad and I used to get rid of the pennies in his pocket by leaving them around town as good luck for whomever found them. We’d hide them in the most random of places – inside books at the bookstore, inside planters, on railings, resting on the slats of plantation blinds…really anywhere you wouldn’t expect to find a penny. The tradition was, when you set it down, you had to say, with as much enthusiasm as humanly possible, “This is going to make someone verrrrrrrry happy!” Even if you were putting out 10 pennies, you had to say it each and every time.

S and I were shopping for some furniture for the new house and saw this penny sitting on top of the chair, and I just lost it. I started crying right there in the furniture store. Then we went to get ice cream, and someone was wearing a t-shirt from Bodo’s, our favorite bagel shop up in Charlottesville, VA, which is also the last restaurant we were still able to take Dad to after we put him in the dementia care facility. And finally, on the way to another store after getting ice cream, we passed Nick’s Trains store.

So, there I am, a hot, fragile mess, trying to pull it together before going into the next store, and I stopped and thought about it. And what I decided was that, with all the horribleness that this week has contained, maybe the universe was actually trying to remind me of how lucky I am. I have these silly memories of putting out pennies with my dad, and chowing down on the best bagels in the country, and train watching and flattening pennies on the train tracks – all with my dad. And now I’m teary, but for good reasons.

Thanks for the bitchslap, powers that be. I needed that.