Ashes and Ancestries
Life ponders on
On one bookshelf, near the sliding door she would use many times a day to step out on the balcony and have a cigarette and think, rest the remaining ashes of Katie. They are in a plastic bag, twist tied shut, inside the chicken pot of Bee. Bee was perhaps her greatest friend for many years. She could stop by Bee’s anytime and Bee would be happy to see her. Bee was a wise old woman, easy to laugh but with her own darkness that she seldom revealed. She was ahead of her time. Full of knowledge and wisdom. Appreciated yet somehow taken for granted. Katie could relate. When Bee died Katie asked for the chicken bowl. It’s what Bee would serve her Jamaican Jerk Chicken in. When Katie died, there seemed to be no better container. Let Bee hold part of Katie. Seeing Bee again was one thing Katie did look forward to.
Another small part of Katie was spread in a creek down near Big Sur on private land. SC let us into the land and he taught me an interesting thing about ashes. He held her and let her shift through his fingers to the creek below. He cherished the feel and let her linger. I mimicked him. The feeling of those ashes is concrete and stays with you. She then drifted, I’m sure, to the Pacific Ocean.
The next small part were spread under our Oak at Garland Ranch on what would have been our wedding anniversary. Many friends joined in the hike and the “blessing” of her ashes at this event. A few fondly noted the hummingbird that roosted at the top of the tree and stayed for the whole event. “There she is!” I included a shot of vodka as well for the tree to send her off properly.
Today another small part of Katie was spread on the upper ridge on the same private land. I met up with Bee’s sister, M. She and Katie also had a close connection. She drove us up the long hill to the top of the ridge. We then went on a short little hike to the location where Bee and a few others now spend their days and nights. M sat to the side and I slowly spread the small jar of ashes that I had brought along. Some went through my fingers. Some blew in the wind and some fell to the ground near the prayer stick. It is good to get Katie there, with Bee. They were connected in life and are now connected in death. M and I simply sat quietly for a little while and then headed back down the ridge.
—----------------
On another bookshelf rests some of the ashes of my mother. They are in a cookie tin. She did very much like cookies. I am not sure where they will eventually live. For now, they stay with me. Next to them is a photo of the two of us looking at each other with our tongues sticking out. We’re barely controlling our giggles. Our relationship in a nutshell.
On the shelf below is a photo of my father as a teenager helming a small motorboat in Alaska. He looks free.
Across the room, on a bulletin board, is a small faded photo of Bee on that same private land. She is sitting at the campfire in her puffy jacket. She was just sitting and watching as we roasted marshmallows and told stories. I don’t know if it was the last time she spent the night there, but I do know she laughed a lot, as she always did.
This is my idea of Ancestry and led me to think of Etheridge Knight’s “Idea of Ancestry”. I am not frequently impacted by the poetry of others, but his powerful piece struck me 30+ years ago when his passing earned him a spot on NPR. It stays with me still. His idea of Ancestry came from a prison cell looking at the wall. Mine is now from a two bedroom apartment in beautiful Pacific Grove with my ancestry on bookshelves.
Etheridge Knigth’s Idea of Ancestry. I don’t have the rights to post it fully but it can be seen here: The Idea of Ancestry by Etheridge Knight - Poems | Academy of American Poets
I too have no children to float in the space between.