Heather S. Ingemar's Blog, page 12

Blindsided

Why is it that just when you think you have your life neatly organized and figured out, that God or fate or karma or whatever decides it’s time to throw a monkeywrench in it?

Looking back I can honestly say the six months following Michael’s death were crap. Total crap. I was miserable, my husband was mostly miserable. I was floundering, emotionally. Because there’s no guidebook, road map, brochure, or even sucky GPS directions for how to navigate the days of grief. The days leading up to Thanksgiving were the breaking point, but then things began turning around. I’m still, achingly, not pregnant, and still, heartbreakingly, not a mother… But over this last month I finally started having a handle on life. I got brave and took on new projects, I threw myself hard into the creative side of my life, and it tided me over through the awkward interactions and the daily difficulty of Life Without Michael.

In short, life began to make sense again.

Then today, ugh, today. Someone I know let slip that they were pregnant.

And oh my. Talk about feeling completely blindsided, like I’ve been kicked in the gut when I’m down… I was completely and totally unprepared for the vicious onslaught of emotions. Feelings I thought I had finally managed to file away in their proper spot, thoughts and reactions I had convinced myself were safely sealed away in their airtight Tupperware — all. came. bursting. to. the. surface.

I’m sure I turned white as a sheet. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and see spots in front of my eyes and those are physiological things that never happen to me unless I’ve been physically stressing myself by running flat out after a loose cow or something. WTF?

It’s not like I haven’t been around pregnant women before. It’s not like I haven’t been around babies since Michael’s death. I’m okay. Those things don’t hurt anymore. Not like this. I just can’t figure out what the trigger is this time…? Why was this casual information so much harder to swallow?

It was a challenge to keep my cool and not be awkward, but I did it. I think I navigated the questions about whether I had kids or had been pregnant before with tact. Maybe not finesse, but tact. And for that I’m proud.

But afterwards I admit I bawled.

I sniffled through evening chores.

I crawled into bed and slept for an hour.

Then I got up and bawled some more.

The only thing I can think is that at least I’m getting it all out of my system.

But — what the Hell, God?!?!

Another friend of mine put it best, I think: “Sometimes figuring out grief is like a drunk blind man leading another drunk through a maze.”

Tagged: difficulty, grief, healing, loss, neonatal death

Up to My Eyeballs

I will admit I’ve been taken kind of… aback… at how quickly a simple thing like submitting my letter to enter the Kingdom Bardic Championship has, well, ballooned.

It’s a little shocking, to say the least.

I’m not surprised to have the support of my local group. They’re an A+ group of friends (more ‘extended family’ than friends at this point) with an unparallelled enthusiasm for each others’ medievalist projects.

What does surprise me is the support and personal good wishes from those who know me in passing, or know of me through others. (Should I be concerned that I have a reputation and that it precedes me? ) I suddenly am beginning to understand the ideal of the “champion heading to war,” where everyone rallies together. It’s rather cool. Even though an Arts & Sciences weekend isn’t “war” or “battle,” and instead of a lance or sword I’ll be armed with research, an agile voice, and a guilele-posing-as-a-Renaissance-guitar, I still feel like I’m a representative from our region.

I am currently up to my eyeballs in research, hip-deep in books and manuscript copies, and relishing the lovely opportunity to use the skills I acquired while getting my English degree (research, writing, formatting a paper). While the Day Job does entail a certain amount of research, I almost never get to use the writing and formatting that I learned back in the day. And I love writing papers. (Yes, I just admitted I love essays. All my High School English teachers get one free roll in their graves when they get there.)  Thus far I have managed to track down two of the three original manuscripts for the pieces I will be performing (The Three Ravens, Pastyme with Good Companye, and The Boar’s Head Carol), and yesterday, I got another of my resource requests in via Interlibrary Loan (it was awesome, better than Christmas!).

I am surging ahead and relishing every moment.

It’s times like these that I wish I was back in college. I had so much fun in college it was unreal (and I’m not talking about the drinking and partying kind). I’ve always loved learning, and college was the first real avenue I had to study what I wanted, and not what was required of me. This feels like that, except better.

Tagged: music, Renaissance, research, sca, Society for Creative Anachronism, writing

Blessings Jar

There’s this photo that’s been floating around on Facebook detailing this little DIY project: a jar you fill with notes about all the good things that happen to you during the year, which you can read on New Year’s.

I like it.

Last night I made myself one, and decided to start writing my blessings early. After so much darkness in 2013, I am going to challenge myself to write one good thing that happens each day.

Here’s to 2014!

Goodbye 2013, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out!

Tagged: blessings, difficulty, hardship, life, loss, new year, positivity

Survival

It seems so wrong to say you “survived” the holidays.

This time last year I was happily about three months along, busily envisioning our baby’s first Christmas. I was just beginning to feel him move and kick, and it was exciting to dream of our future as a happy little family of father, mother, and child.

There’s that twinge, again, that sting of loss that doesn’t quite go away.

I had no idea.

Don’t get me wrong: our Christmas this year was quiet, homey, and good — it just wasn’t the glowing affair I had dreamed of, where we all gathered around the little tree and I held our wide-eyed child as we tried to show him or her (because last Christmas, I didn’t yet know I would have a son) how to open presents. It wasn’t filled with the joy of watching our little one roll around across the carpet and smile at us, or perhaps even giggle as he played with a new toy or board book.

This Christmas could have easily been dour, and sad, and painful simply for the reason that it didn’t live up to those lofty expectations, because the one thing I truly wanted for Christmas is beyond anybody’s power to give.

But it wasn’t any of those things. No, we didn’t decorate, we didn’t get a tree or hang stockings, but it was alright. It wasn’t “merry and gay” as the old carols say, but okay. We said our prayers and clung close to each other and enjoyed a rather wonderful meal together (even if my pumpkin pies didn’t turn out entirely as I hoped). And Michael’s absence only twinged a little.

I feel as though I can breathe easy, now, because while J and I may not be past all the hard parts, we’re past the lion’s share of them, and we’ll keep surviving, one day at a time, together, as a team. When one of us falls, the other’s hand is right there to help. As I look “over the hill” at the start of a new year, I have that feeling like we’re far enough up the side of the mountain that we can look over top of the dark valley toward the sunny horizon. That we’re almost there.

Almost there.

So if you ask, I’ll candidly say that I did survive the holidays, and even if you look shocked, I’ll still be satisfied because it’s not wrong, because grief is a rocky hillside of a journey, because look how far I’ve come.

Tagged: Christmas, grief, holidays, life, loss, love, neonatal death

Yule, Kingdom Bardic, & Persona Musings

Oh, so much has happened in the last week or so since I wrote last.

My barony hosted their annual Yule gathering of feasting, gift-giving, and dancing week before last, and I minstreled for the populace most of the day. I got to sing some of those lovely medieval and renaissance carols I had prepared for my first Christmas gig of the season. People threw money at me. It was great. The money was chocolate!

A couple days later I finalized my decision to enter my kingdom’s Bardic Championship. This was a big step for me; I had wanted to, but had been waffling for the last couple of months on whether it was truly a feasible thing for me to try for. Especially when I’d had several bards caution me against going for “the big one” at my first kingdom-level event.

But that didn’t scare me. I give everything I do 110%, and jumping in head-first is how I operate. Once a decision is made, away I go. The kicker was when I came to the conclusion that I was putting off a lot of things I wanted to do when I didn’t really have that good of a reason to put them off.

So, I sent in my letter.

And I made reservations.

And now, it seems, I am on a train heading a breakneck speed. I have three months to get my documentation in order for the three pieces I will be performing, to memorize my music, to up the game and truly perform as Emma and not as Heather-disguised-as-Emma.

That is an interesting conundrum in of itself. There has been a lot of discussion recently on the SCA Bardic forums I’m part of about whether you are a “performing person” or a “persona performer.” Initially, I said I was a “performing person,” but the more I consider it, the line blurs because I have never felt more at home with myself as I do around the bardic circle. Am I Heather? Am I Heather-pretending-to-be-Emma? Or am I Emma-stuck-in-Heather’s-Body?

So to speak.

Whatever I am, I have to find a way to channel the late Renaissance period one way or another in my performance in March.

And it’s going to be a fun road getting there.

Tagged: bardic, music, performance, persona, Renaissance, sca, Society for Creative Anachronism

Solstice

Winter Solstice is this weekend.

According to what I’ve read, in Celtic times the Solstice marks the start of the new year — it gave hope to the struggling community that the darkness wouldn’t last much longer, that Spring, with it’s planting and feasting and growth, was on the way.

I find it an aprohpoh analogy.

I am not sorry to see this year go. J and I have faced everything from farming troubles and house issues to deeply personal losses. We have lost so much, we have fought so many difficulties, and it has just been a HARD year for us. It seemed anything that could go wrong, did. We were challenged to cling to our faith, but here we stand.

This year has been so dark for us.

The upcoming Solstice has taken on new meaning for me, because I am ready to say goodbye to the darkness and welcome in the light. I am ready to have a little hope.

I am not the dancing sort. I am not the sort to host a wild party. But I will hold my head high and welcome this turning of the earth for what it symbolizes for me: a gentle reminder that things will get better. I will kindle the fire in my soul with prayer and song until it is bright, and I will lift my hands to God that He may carry us safely through the following days until the renewal of Spring.

If you find yourself in similar circumstances, I pray that you, too, will find a kindling of hope for 2014.

Tagged: change, faith, God, hope, new year, solstice, Spirituality

I Won’t Say It

We stood outside last night, chatting and looking at the snow-covered hills. I think we talked about everything we could have without actually saying the words of goodbye. Neither of us want to say it; I know I refuse to, because saying it would make it real. Permanent. And silly as it is, part of me still hopes and wishes this weren’t happening…

I’m not good at this, because I’ve always been the one who left. Now it is my turn to be the one waving, and I am so awkward.

Our friendship has surprised me beyond words, and I can never quite say just how much you and your family have come to mean to me. This year has been way too rough on us all, and yet when it seemed J and I would be barely able to pick up the pieces, you and your family covered the distance and held our hands while we trembled. When many shied away out of fear and uncertainty, you invited us to dinner. You let us lean on you whenever we needed to, and I am so grateful.

At the time, I had hoped the employment uncertainty would resolve and you all would be able to stay for the rest of your lives, like you wanted. Because by then, I wanted it, too. I wanted to have the opportunity to repay your generous kindness, somehow, someday. I wanted to have the time to show you how precious you are.

But today you are moving away, and it’s a good thing, because things have worked out at last for you. I know it’s a good thing, because families shouldn’t be spread apart for quite so long. And like I told you last night, I am happy for you to be reunited. But I am not happy to say goodbye.

As we stood there talking under the stars, I was reminded of the note you sent me on Facebook this summer when your children found that abandoned fledgling. About how we never know how long people will be in our lives, how every moment we DO have is a precious gift.

Oh, our friendship has been such a precious gift.

So I won’t say it. I won’t say how much I’ll miss you all. You won’t hear a peep of lament. I’ll just stand still, and I’ll raise my hand and wish you well, and the only thing you’ll hear me say is thank you.

Thank you for being you.

Thank you for being my friend.

This is not goodbye.

Tagged: friendship, life, loss

Quem Pastores

This is one of the lovely Renaissance carols I sang at my Weinhard gig a few weekends ago.

It’s a Latin Christmas carol; as the subtitles in the video explain, the words are found as early as the 14th century (I saw 1310 AD as one reference), but it became popular in Germany in the mid 1500s. Later (1621), Italian composer Michael Praetorius adopted it and re-arranged it with another popular Latin text for use in Lutheran ceremonies — he wanted to prove Italian Baroque music could be used in their church services.

The closest translation I can find is:

While their flocks the shepherds tended,

Heav’nly Hosts to earth descended,

Singing, with all voices blended,

“Fear not, Christ is born today.”

Eastern Seers rich gifts had wroght Him,

Gold, frankincense, myrr, they brought Him,

Guided by a Star they sought Him,

Prince of Life and Victory.

From this day’s first dawn to even,

Praise to Christ our King be given

By all Earth, and all in Heaven,

In our sweetest, loftiest strain.

Tagged: carols, Christianity, Christmas, hymns, Latin, music, Renaissance, Spirituality

It Didn’t Hurt

I heard a baby cry today.

My insides didn’t turn to knots. I didn’t find myself gasping for air. I didn’t cringe, I didn’t reel as my memories threw me headlong back into the delivery room. I didn’t find myself back in those last moments. When that brand-new baby cried in my earshot, I didn’t hear Michael.

It was just a baby.

Not my baby. And it didn’t hurt.

Is this what healing is like?

I took a moment and really looked at the pictures of Michael that I still have on my iPad. I examined the photos from that last beautiful month of my pregnancy with him. I studied my face, my son’s face, probing that hole in my heart like one prods underneath a scab. Does it still hurt? Will it hurt if I poke it hard enough? Or am I just be building walls like a crazy architecht, sealing off that portion of my soul like it’s a diseased thing? It’s possible. I’ve done it before…

No. It still hurts, it will hurt, but the triggers are harder to find. I am not tiptoeing around the edges so much as I once did.

Is this how it is supposed to be?

Six months out, and I am not sent running for the tissue box at the sound of a child crying. Six months out, and it’s like my all-too-brief foray into motherhood never happened (we’ll just ignore the stomach pook), because the all-out grief isn’t knocking me down hard enough, often enough. Oh, I am still uncomfortable and awkward. I still fumble my way around family encounters, I still can’t help but envy happily pregnant women. But my day-to-day life soldiers on with no fanfare, no triumph, just this: an absence of pain at an infant’s wailing.

Tagged: grief, healing, loss, neonatal death, Pregnancy

Instrument Art

I like inexpensive instruments. You can cart them everywhere, you don’t have to worry about them, and you can draw on them.

So that is my new guilele. I like it. But, like many basic instruments, it is very plain. So I wanted to spruce it up in keeping with my medieval and renaissance music interests.

I start out by “sketching” my design ideas on some saran wrap with a sharpie. It’s an excellent system, because I can see how it would look on the instrument, without leaving marks. I came up with this design after looking at several period renaissance guitars, gitterns, and lutes. I didn’t have a way to create an authentic rose to cover the soundhole, and I didn’t want to potentially sacrifice any volume, so I decided to just embellish the area around the soundhole.

When I’ve got it more or less how I want it, I lightly sketch the outline on the instrument with a pencil. I say lightly, because as long as it’s light, it can be erased — if you press too hard you’ll leave indentations.

After I get it all sketched in pencil, I go over it with the sharpie very carefully.

And the finished product!


[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]

Tagged: art, design, embellishment, gittern, guilele, lute, Renaissance, renaissance guitar, sharpie