The Golden Egg

Current mood: calm
Category: Life

Warm optimism.

I feel somewhat accomplished lately and am feeling calm now as a result.

I stumbled a bit today, though. I recovered, and made a save.

Ended up practicing at home instead of at the noisy space, and was reminded of how pleasant it can be.

COSY.

From yesterday:
Some neighbor I know through a housemate commented on how he heard my band on the radio when he was in jail. I dunno who's been leaking our traxx, but I was flattered and amused.

I was approached twice in the same day for collaborations. The optimist in me was psyched, though people naturally ask if I'll be getting paid, etc.

Back to today:
I just typed up my first batch of lyrics for 2007. My new song was directly inspired by the following things: love & devotion, COIL, Syd Barrett, and the bright sunlight filtering into my room...streaking in and speaking to me. And today, Tony and I started working on a song together.

I was playing my old mandolin tonight (home instrument), and though it's been criticized by my peers, I prefer the way it rings out. Something more magical about it. It's kinda homemade. Not shiny and new like the Fender I bought a few months back, but it's definitely more magical.

As I was playing it, and feeling folky, it occurred to me, "With my secret mando-lute, I will lay a thousand golden eggs..."

Currently listening : And The Ambulance Died In His Arms By Coil Release date: By 27 November, 2006

Roughy and Bumpy Road

Current mood: blank
Category: Life

Quiet snowy gray New England Day.

I was feeling very selfish the past two days, then yesterday I read a horoscope that said, "Beware your motto does not become 'What's in it for me?"

Then I decided to check myself, so I tried to give it all who demanded attention of me. And have patience and give love.

I'm excited to be going to NYC next weekend to record with Bisi. He's so nice!

And I canna wait to get into the city. Had fun there the past 2 times.

It's warm to me in a way Boston kind of is not. Oh, and being there around/before Valentine's Day is the best. Lots of red in the store windows, and so many cupcakes!!!!!! Dying to be eaten...icing icing...

Went to the rehearsal space by meself last night. It was a treasure. Just me and my instruments. Hadn't gone enough in the past few weeks due to upset and trying to shake an infernal cold which seems mostly dissipated.

In this most difficult time in my life, I realize how many people care about me. I mean truly care, like not letting me eat carbs, making me eat seafood, and giving me bottled water, and lockets, etc. I feel thankful and grateful, and it helps take the edge off when I get lonely or sad.

It sounds cliche, I know, but love can heal all. Sometimes we wanna be angry and hateful, because it can feel so good to sink into negativity, but it's a trap. And for me, I only regret it and beat myself up for it later.

Spring is coming, and that's when I tend to write my best stuff. I can kind of feel the inspirations percolating within. Chaos helps! But so does stillness. It seems I live in a world of extremes.

Watched Nanook of the North finally...very charming and inspiring - both the Eskimo way of life and the effort of the filmmaker to capture their tale.

Been listening to a CD of Rosicrucian music composed by Erik Satie. Nice. The piano sounds wonderful.

I picked up the CD in NYC back in September. Some of the experiences I had while on that trip left me feeling very alive and free. I remember coming home and waking up in the morning and nakedly playing my guitar - my classical, and singing in a high voice. I felt like a siren. God I wish I could feel that free more often. Like everything I did was full of beauty.

Currently listening : Let's Get Out of This Country By Camera Obscura Release date: By 06 June, 2006

Mother post II

Current mood: ill
Category: Life

Fuck. Having a much harder time today.

Listening to a Turkish CD of all woman singers from Istanbul early 1900s, given to me by Leah Callahan.

My mom never liked Turkish classical or folk music, 'cause she thought it sounded too mournful, which it does. But I like that sort of thing and really need it right now.

Without my mother to guide me through my heritage, I am clutching tightly to anything that reminds me of it - listening to the music and wearing my cartouche. Desperately.

Getting dangerously low on tissues.

I am sick again, to boot.

But I am still feeling so strong despite the pain. My mother didn't cry one tear when she was on her deathbed. She showed no fear.

I've been urgently compiling contact info for my Turkish relatives with success, I am happy to report. I have a newfound desire to reach out to them and make myself known.

We had a memorial service on Tuesday in Houston. People came from far and wide. Over 130+ people came. Many Turks, tennis and garden club friends.

Sadly, I was the only blood relative there. Türkiye is just too far, and her one uncle (and his American wife) in NYC could not make it for various reasons.

But I represented.

My father eulogized my mom nicely, and during so, he mentioned that I reminded him of her that day, and how she looked when they married.

I wore my big black frilly Sunday church hat, a black lace outfit that my mom had given me, and black heels. Apropos for mourning, and the hat hid my eyes pretty well during the service.

Before I came back to Boston, we went through some of her clothes, shoes, purses, and pounds upon pounds of cosmetics. The only thing I really wanted was her wedding dress. In a box with some dainty little hats she once wore, there were two little branches with fake flowers and pearls - props from her wedding ceremony according to my dad. These are things I would naturally incorporate in my own wedding if one day I am a bride.

I've also been clutching my mala. Tony's mom gave it to me. It has really helped me more than simple text on this page can express.

Throughout all this, I have met new people who have helped me and taught me things. I realized with all the preparations for the service and repast afterwards just how much help it takes to get such things done. I've always had a hard time asking for help...luckily my dad was offered a lot and knew he had to accept it in order for us all to honor my mother.

Two of his sisters, one cousin, and her baby all came to Houston. They comforted, helped, and supported my dad, and I was so thankful because I could not have done much without them.

One funny Southern note:
The day of the service, we arrived early at the VA chapel, by one hour. So to kill some time, the kind folks who drove us took us all to a real down-home seafood place where we got bacon-wrapped shrimp and sat oustide in the sun.

The entrance to the cemetery where the chapel had a stone sign that read "Lest Ye Forget".

Belma Snyder RIP

My mother, Belma Arslantas Snyder, passed away on New Year's Eve ~ 2006, in the morning.

She was 57, and her birthday was on Christmas Day. I am her only child. She leaves behind my father and me. Her mother, brother, and father all dead. Her mother, who lived in Türkiye her whole life, passed only 4 years ago, at the age of 75. It's still a little nebulous as to how she died, because we weren't there - but it seems like heart/respiratory failure.

I arrived in Houston, where she and my dad share a house and have lived for 30 years, on Christmas Day. My dad and I went to the hospital that evening to see her and try to trade presents. That wasn't very successful. She didn't really care much about her birthday or Christmas this year.

She was in the ICU at Southwest Memorial Hermann hospital. She was admitted to the hospital on December 1st, diagnosed with Stage IV Sarcomatoid Renal Carcinoma on about December 7th, and dead on December 31st. The reason she was initially admitted, to another hospital, just after Thanksgiving, was a fractured hip that broke while I was home for Thanksgiving. We thought it was nothing.

You see, my mom didn't really have any significant symptoms - no fatigue, significant weight loss, no chronic pain, etc.

Anyway, when they tested her for the hip problem they started finding one thing after another - blood clots in both legs and one arm, fluid in and around her lungs, a malignant tumor in her kidney, and more.

The type of cancer she had was rare, and thus underresearched compared to others, it seems. Only 5% of cancers...

The first night when I arrived, we spoke with a nephrologist who indicated her kidneys & bladder were in bad shape, but he said the conditions were reversible. After that day, however, we heard no more positive indications from any of the countless doctors/specialists. My head was spinning - talking with so many diff. people - doctors/nurses/social workers/concerned friends, etc.

All week, my father and I watched her wither away as her kidneys began to shut down and her lungs filled up making her gasp for air. Her belly swelled.

We watched her go from fighting and struggling to indifferent. She was mentally aware throughout it all. She would not sleep or rest when we were there, and the nurses told us she wouldn't sleep at night either.

I tried to dress pretty for her, and wear things she had given me to cheer her up. I also wore a crescent moon & star ring, and made sure a card with those symbols was in her room. These symbols are supposed to comfort Muslims.

By mid-week, she was no longer allowed to eat anything - only ice chips and water. Inside, she was on fire. She could not drink enough cold water to cool off. She desperately wanted Glucerna, pudding, chocolate, and oranges.

Late in the week, some staff came to us recommending hospice care. I had not previously been familiarized with the concept, but basically it's when you shift the focus from trying to fix what's wrong to keeping someone comfortable. {Comfortable...passing...I hate euphemisms.}

No one wanted her to suffer, but she didn't want to do hospice, she wanted to keep fighting. Later in the week, her doctor came to us and said we were buying time, but for what? They literally could not treat any of her problems because the others were compounding. It was a Catch-22. We re-approached my mom about hospice and told her she could eat and drink whatever she wanted there. I wanted her to taste food and see out a window before she died, all of which she could do in hospice. She began to warm up to the concept, and finally agreed that she wanted to do it. By the end she was begging to leave ICU and go back upstairs to the Cancer Ward she had previously been in so she could start in-patient hospice care.

We had people speak with her about how hospice worked. We also called an Imam - Muslim priest - twice during this ordeal. I am glad she was awake and alert enough to be mentally present when the 2 Imams came to pray with and for her. I wanted to hear these prayers too. I wanted her to have some peace, and I thought the Imam might comfort her. Though she was not devout, she was born a Muslim, and grew up in a Muslim country. She had in recent years spoken of making a pilgrimage to Mecca - something every Muslim is supposed to do at least once in life.

Friends came by to visit her, and called the house. 20 people came by her hospital room on Saturday alone (the day before she passed). She was so well-loved by many groups of friends. Unfortunately, she only has one relative in the US, an uncle, and we can't get ahold of him to inform him, and to let him know about the memorial service. If he is not there, she will have no blood relatives save me, present...

Some of her cousins called in the middle of the night - at about 4 or 5AM the night she died. Türkiye is 8 hours ahead of Houston...They only recently heard she was even sick. And they were shocked and horrified when I, half asleep, told them in broken Turkish she had died.

It all happened so fast. Last week was a blur. I barely saw the sun. Every day at the hospital all day, and then home to answer calls and collapse from exhaustion.

You see me blog about my love for the South. Well, it comforted me again in this situation. There were two figures, one man and one woman (both of whom worked for the Odyssey House Hospice), whose Southern manner comforted me deeply. A slow, calm, patient, and hospitable way about them I shall never forget. Even walking around the hospital, everyone says hi and hello, and is just friendly. Living in New England for 10 years now, forget what a difference these things make, but oh God, do they.

Also, the Turks came out in full force. I got to meet new people - friends of my mom, and their friends.

My parents know lots of people who work in oil and/or in the Middle East. I feel such a kinship with these Middle Easterners. It is my blood rising up and communing with them.

Funny and stereotypical I suppose to be in Texas dealing with folks in oil, and the Middle Eastern thing is so current...

Someone dear to me recommended abstaining from media in order to clear my head, and I did, to the best of my ability. But I still managed to hear about the passing of Ahmet Ertegün, James Brown, Gerald Ford, and Saddam Hussein. I did not listen to music - the thing I love most in this world and my reason for carrying on - for about 4 days+. I didn't feel I deserved to. I love it too much and it makes me too happy. I wouldn't allow anything to comfort me. I broke the silence only yesterday, for I was back in Boston and wanting to get on with life. I mean, I barely even allowed myself to hum any little tunes, which I do alot. I censored myself. That is definitely one way of mourning for me. No music. Only silence to hear the void and feel it descend upon me.

I fasted until sunset on the day my mother died - out of respect. This is common for Muslims, and though I am agnostic, I still feel a connection to the world of Islam, and acknowledge its role in my heritage. At sunset, after talking on the phone with folks and visiting with the ones who stopped by, I realized, My God, this is the last day I'm here, and I haven't really seen a sunset (so beautiful the Texas sky) this whole time, and now the fasting time is over. I felt so saddened at that time being over. Perhaps that's when I most felt an absence. there was nothing more I could do in the immediate...I looked out over the lake behind my parents' home and observed the sun deep in the west. It was obscured by a neighbor's fence. I wished it had been earlier in the magic hour so I could look at it and then East, towards Mecca. Somewhere I am sure an ezan wailed across a city from a minaret...I longed to hear that, as I can in Türkiye, beautifully and mournfully coming out from several mosques simultaneously...the ancient sound of praising Allah...so desperate and so humble. Foreign, beautiful, and exotic, yet familiar in the fabric of my blood. Bridging the distant gap between all oceans from Türkiye to here. Boston. Houston. I longed to hear these sounds ~ Arabic prayers from the Koran in a quavering male voice - so much that I got my laptop and searched desperately for some audio clips. And I found them. I found one that was 7 minutes, and I blasted it, sounding rough through my small computer speakers and being of poor audio quality to begin with. But its gritty nature was just the salve I sought. This whole experience was gritty. Grit grit grit.

And then I heard about the fire at Pan 9 - the space I so dearly loved and in which fell in love, created much music, performed, etc.

A crappy end to 2006 for yours truly, but I still have much hope for 2007. Hope springs infernal.