November 23, 2024 by Born To Organize

Head in the Sand

In the wee hours of the morning on November 6th, I crawled out of bed and confirmed what I already knew. Kamala Harris lost the presidential election to a vile man.

Since then, I’ve managed a near-100% media blackout, avoiding print, radio, and TV. Further, I’m on an extended break from social media. It’s tough to reconcile the fact that 50% of the votes cast in this election nominated a racist, misogynistic, lying, cheating man who is now free of any consequences for his contemptible behavior. I feel sick with grief.

While I’m not one to stick my head in the sand, this is how I’m coping with my sorrow and dread of what’s to come. It’s exhausting.

California is home to 39 million people, 27% of whom are immigrants. People are scared. My internal mantra has been “mourn, then mobilize,” but it will be a while before I get there.

I’ll end with this quote:

“We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.” James Baldwin

Resist: Marches, Rallies, and Vigils Click on image for details

July 2, 2024 by Born To Organize

And So it Goes

Earlier this year, a then-anonymous reader commented on a post written over ten years ago. She found the piece about my formative years in Millbrae by searching: “Millbrae behind the tracks 1970’s.” She added the name Cindy.

I didn’t remember Cindy by name at first. We had been friends for a year before heading to different high schools. Shortly after, our family moved to Santa Clara County. After she got in touch, we wrote back and forth by email before connecting on Facebook.

Cindy shared:

“You will not believe how I came across you! I was reading a biography of Mary Martin, and I recalled watching Peter Pan on TV when I spent the night with you and your sister at your apartment in Jr. High. The neighborhood struck me. I didn’t know the area “behind the tracks.” It’s not that I was living in the high end of Millbrae by any means, but I was surprised by what I saw. So, while reading the book and remembering that evening, I thought of you.”

“While reading your article, I got chills when you mentioned a shy, freckle-faced girl at the end. I knew it! I’m so happy to find you well and happy!”

We’ve been trading memories of our brief friendship, each of us remembering small details. I remembered that she had an old cat and a new puppy. I’ve always loved animals but we weren’t allowed to have pets in our rented apartment. Visiting them at her house would have been a treat.

We attended a party on New Year’s Eve at Cindy’s house, perhaps the first of its kind my protective mother let us attend. Cindy shared a memory of a sleepover at her place when we heard a noise and she called the police. It amounted to nothing, but those sorts of memories live on. My sister Sharon, who is just a year younger, can’t remember anything from this time. I wish I could remember more.

Cindy also shared parts of her early life that I never knew, including the trauma of unfit parents, time in an orphanage, and eventually, in foster care. She had a positive experience in the orphanage, including hot meals, warm pajamas, kids to play with, and toys, none of which she had with her birth parents. By the time we met, she was living in a warm and caring environment with her foster mother, though her foster dad died when she was a young girl. That may have been what brought us together all those years ago, though any chance of capturing that memory seems elusive.

I wish the plethora of pleasant memories could bury the old ones, but they don’t. We are the product of our experiences and how we use them to maneuver through a complex world. Publishing Train Tracks of My Youth rekindled a long-forgotten friendship with a friend who survived her own trauma, and thrived.

And so it goes.

You can read the full post Train Tracks of My Youth here.

November 13, 2023 by Born To Organize

Miseries and Mysteries and Mourning on Hold

It’s been a surreal and emotional few weeks as we work through the complexities in the aftermath of my brother-in-law’s death.

The coroner completed a preliminary autopsy, but it will be at least a month before the tox reports are in. They issued a death certificate with the cause of death pending and released JJ’s remains to the Neptune Society for cremation. Mike’s greatest fear is that his brother suffered a lingering death. For now, we have to live with the unknown.

Also unknown is the mystery surrounding JJ’s car. We learned from the apartment manager that when the police and medical examiner arrived, a man she didn’t know tried repeatedly to gain entry into the apartment. The following day, someone disregarded the “Warning – Official Seal” placed by the coroner and entered the apartment. The car and my brother-in-law’s phone and laptop went missing that day.

Mike contacted the DMV and the Sacramento Sheriff’s Department to open an investigation into the potential theft. We pondered different scenarios: Did he sell the car to this man? The car is only a year old. Why would he sell the car, his only form of transportation, and why would the guy try to register the car a week after JJ’s death? We wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but things didn’t add up.

The car later resurfaced at the apartment complex, and the sheriff came and impounded the car at a tow lot. Mike had to prepare documents so we could claim the car (about 100 miles from where we live). Before he could do that, the man who took possession of the car the first time went to the tow yard, presented his newly minted car registration, and drove the car off the lot, telling the tow yard that he planned to sell the vehicle. We couldn’t believe it.

Meanwhile, a special carrier delivered JJ’s ashes to our home. The driver showed great compassion as she handed us the cremains and asked for Mike’s signature. We had a somber moment at the end of our driveway as we thanked her and carried the box into the house. My chest tightens just thinking about it.

More mischief ensued. The bank told us that fraudulent checks had been written against JJ’s account amounting to nearly $20,000. The perpetrators wrote four checks to three individuals after his death. The bank reversed three checks, and the fourth didn’t pass through due to insufficient funds. I guess they planned to keep withdrawing as long as they could.

We heard from the sheriff again. They found the car in a public lot. They asked the driver to remove his effects and towed it for a second time to the impound lot. This time, the car was marked as stolen.

On November 3rd, we took the train to Sacramento and hired an Uber to drive us to the tow yard. We had four hours to collect the car, go to the coroner for JJ’s personal effects, go to the local post office to complete a change of address, and finally meet the apartment manager. She has been kind and helpful through it all, so we wanted to meet her in person and bring her a gift of thanks. She greeted us both with a warm hug, the highlight of an otherwise depressing trip.

When we picked up the car, we were dismayed at the horrible smell reminiscent of the apartment. We hoped to have it professionally cleaned but didn’t have time. From there, we drove to the coroner’s office to collect the items on my brother-in-law’s person at the time of death. The coroner is open to the public for just three hours a day. Receiving the contents was another emotional blow for Mike. He had hoped for a wallet with personal items and photos, perhaps a glimpse into his brother’s recent life. Instead, they handed him a small plastic bag with a driver’s license and two bank cards. Further, JJ looked unwell in his license photo, resulting in more sadness and more grief.

With that time-sensitive detail out of the way, we did a quick tidy of the car, still parked in the coroner’s lot. We filled a bag with trash and unwanted items, wiped the seats and cleared out old cigarette residue so that our long drive home would be bearable.

At 4:30 we made our last stop at the local post office and grabbed a quick bite before returning to San Jose. Mike flew to South America for a two-week business trip a day later, weary but grateful that we accomplished so much.

I’m looking forward to Mike’s return on Saturday, followed a few days later by Thanksgiving and a four-day holiday weekend. It will be a welcome change of pace and the chance to shower him with lots of TLC. Then, perhaps, the tears will flow.

October 19, 2023 by Born To Organize

Multiplying Grief

We arrived home from Italy on a Friday early this month. Five days later, the Sacramento coroner called to tell Mike his youngest brother JJ had been found dead in his apartment. We hadn’t seen him in years.

The brothers were bereft when Mike’s parents died weeks apart in 2008; however, JJ took it the hardest. At the time, he lived on the same property as his parents, managing a small vineyard and eating meals with his folks. He never fully launched, even though he was in his early forties.

After settling the affairs, he moved to Sacramento and cut off his entire family, including his brothers, cousins, nieces, and nephews. We collectively reached out over time, but he changed his email address and phone number and didn’t respond to physical mail. I had the local police do a welfare check in the early days, and they called and said he was okay.

Learning of his death last week has torn the bandage off a deep wound. Compounding the loss, we discovered he’d been living in squalor and warned many times to clean up his place or face eviction. He had sufficient financial means to buy his own place, yet chose a different path. His apartment manager was under the impression that he had no family, unaware of our attempts to make contact. We’re devastated.

Mike’s middle brother met us at the apartment on Saturday so we could collect paperwork, personal effects, and keys to JJ’s car, mailbox, and storage unit. The investigator sealed the apartment when he left on Tuesday, but someone let themselves in the following day and took my brother-in-law’s car, further complicating an already challenging situation. We had been warned of the apartment’s condition, so I bought protective gear in advance, including respirator masks, heavy-duty gloves, and shoe coverings. We had no way to prepare, however, for the smell.

I uncovered a dead rat in the first hour. More followed. The stench of spoiled food, rat urine, and cigar ash permeated every corner. Sadness and dismay, anger, and grief hung in the air. At one point, I kneeled on a plastic lid to gather coins that had fallen to the floor. A giant rat darted out from its cover, raced by my leg, and took refuge under a stack of crates.

Bone-weary and filthy, we retreated to a hotel and later a meal. It’s been a lot to process.

We returned home on Sunday, eating junk food for dinner in the car and taking another round of showers. Mike continues to be repulsed by the terrible stench that permeates everything, so I spent Monday airing out the paperwork we retrieved, placing framed pictures in a plastic bag, and taking the washed coins I gathered from the apartment floor to Coinstar, donating the proceeds to the Red Cross.

When I close my eyes, images of the apartment appear. I’m a professional organizer by trade, so I’ve seen this before; however, it’s another story when it’s family.

Meanwhile, we await the autopsy results. When finalized, the medical examiner will release JJ’s remains to the Neptune Society for cremation. A professional team emptied the apartment of debris, and the highway patrol will continue investigating the missing car.

JJ’s death leaves us with multiplying losses: what is and what might have been. Two brothers are devastated with profound grief and a sadness that won’t soon disappear.

JJ and Olga (my mother-in-law)1968 and 1995, Francini brothers and nephews, wedding party (JJ as best man), Thanksgiving, 2008.

October 30, 2022 by Born To Organize

A Somber Halloween

Halloween is in the air.

I’ve loved this festive day since I was a child. My sister and I enjoyed dressing up, making costumes from this and that, and anticipating the night. Of course, there were strict rules about where we could go, how long we could be out, and with whom, but we made the most of it.

We arrived home long before 8:00 with cold cheeks and a bag of candy. The candy haul would fuel a trading game in the weeks to come. We would spread the goods on the living room floor, count each item, then trade back and forth. We each had our favorites. It was also a way to extend the thrill of the night.

As adults, we found the excuse to dress up for parties or work events. We fixed each other’s hair or wig and donned false eyelashes. Sharon usually helped with my makeup since I’m an amateur and she’s the pro.

Sharon dressed as a witch. I made a costume this year called my year in trash

My sister and I no longer dress up, and the thrill of the day has passed. Sharon’s MS has advanced to such a degree that she can no longer walk or drive. She struggles to dress, and she needs help putting on her shoes. At the end of this month, the water therapy that helps sustain her is no longer covered by her health plan. The powers that be, determined that since she can’t get well, she can’t have physical therapy. Health “care” in this country often boils down to health insurance. It’s beyond depressing.

Today, I shampooed my sister’s hair in an inflatable sink, then wrapped it in a towel to dry. She’s lost the chance to shower two days a week after water therapy, robbing her of the dignity of basic hygiene. We are both bereft.

It’s hard to know where we go from here, so we’re improvising. Costumes and wigs no longer apply.

Tomorrow I’ll toss candy into the bags of costumed children after they knock at our door and yell, “trick-or-treat!” The night will be bitter and sweet.

March 7, 2022 by Born To Organize

The Weight of the World and a Mysterious Bead

Four years with a derelict president, the pandemic, and now Russia’s invasion of Ukraine make it hard to get out of bed each day. If ever the cliché of carrying the world’s weight were true, it is now.

I’m grateful to have a bed, a roof over my head, a loving family, and relative safety. It’s impossible, however, to shed this grief and the daily worry of “what next?” as images of women and frightened children pepper the news. I feel hopeless and helpless in the face of a monster.

In late December, one of the unhoused women I serve showed me a weighty bead that rolled into her tent.

She had no idea how it got there and made it clear she didn’t let anyone inside her tent. She thought it might be a map of Russia since it sported a small red star, but on further examination, it seemed abstract. Most of all, she was worried that it might be a bad omen.

I don’t believe in omens or superstitions, but she does, and that’s what matters. I offered to hold on to it for her, and she seemed relieved. She warned me to be careful if anything terrible started happening to me.

I didn’t see her in the intervening weeks, and the bead remained in a drawer downtown. I eventually brought it home and created a charm from my collection of buttons and ephemera.

I made a small card to go with the charm and gave it to her when she returned.

I wrote:

Dear [ ],
I turned the beautiful bead you found in your tent into a charm. It’s infused with affection and hope. You deserve a life off of the streets. Carry this with you as a reminder that our Lifted Spirits volunteers want the best for you.
With affection, Alys

The clear button and the leaf from my stash represent water and earth, and her bead represents the global community. I turned an object of fear into a thing of beauty and hope. I wish I could do the same for our weary world.

I’m carrying my own heavy burdens closer to home. The sadness is mine, but the circumstances are not mine to share. Instead, I have a sorrow deep in my chest, reflecting it outward through my weary eyes. It invades my sleep.

I long for peace.

August 24, 2021 by Born To Organize

Gardens and August Grief

My dad was a horticulturist by trade. He built our Canadian garden from a pile of dirt, transporting rock by rock to create a small brook that meandered through our back yard. By November most years, everything received a blanket of snow.

We moved to California in 1966, but Dad died of lung cancer three years later. As a result, he never got to realize his dream of a California garden. I carry Dad’s memory, along with the dirt under my nails and twigs in my hair, whenever I spend time gardening.

My dad died in August of 1969. His sister, and my namesake Aunt Alys, also died in August, but nearly 40 years later.

I often feel lost this time of year, adrift in memories and full of melancholy. I’ve learned to let the feelings flow. Today a Google search revealed that a BBC radio show interviewed Aunt Alys’ neighbors shortly after her death. Unfortunately, John and Anne Matthews didn’t share this with me at the time, and now the program is archived and unavailable. So it goes. Somehow it brought about more loss, more tears.

If I could walk hand in hand with Dad on this warm August day, I would show him our garden, name the plants, and laugh about the botanical names that I can never keep straight. I would let him know that his little girl grew up and is now a mother to two incredible young men.

On my family’s porch with my sister Sharon and others in London, Ontario, Canada, early 1960s

He would be saddened to know that Sharon is struggling with MS and that the pandemic has been unkind. The loss of a daily swim has rendered her legs almost useless. Dad would comfort her, and love her, and then he would do something to make her laugh. I miss that, too.

Dad would love my husband Mike, a kind and clever man with a generous spirit and a loving heart.

Most of all, Dad would be tickled to know that I inherited his love of gardening. I would give him a hug and thank him for passing on his passion and his favorite color green to a daughter who loved him then, and who loves him now. I wish we could enjoy time in the garden together one more time.

September 6, 2020 by Born To Organize

Pauline King: Artist and Beloved Friend

Many of us know Pauline King through her blog, the Contented Crafter. I’m one of the lucky ones that got to take that a step further, not once but twice.

Pauline flew to the East Coast of the United States for a gathering of blogging friends. We dubbed ourselves the “Blogging Babes,” and my goodness did we have fun.

Two years later, we met again in New Zealand for the most extraordinary few weeks of my life. Pauline’s daughters joined us for that second gathering, along with Pauline’s beloved, four-legged companion, Siddy.

Pauline died peacefully this week from complications of a stroke. She passed on her 71st birthday, September 5, 2020.

Pauline’s blog “containing random thoughts, bits of life, creations from my art room, and tales of a cat named Orlando and a puppy named Siddy” attracted readers from around the world.

We learned about her artistic process and got to share in the final results, and when lucky, we were treated to amusing tales of a dog named Sid. What I’ll remember most about Pauline’s online presence was her poignant, funny, and insightful comments left with a generous heart on so many blogs.

In-person, she was a dear friend, a bright light, a good listener, and a kind and kindred soul. I am bereft.

You can click on individual photos to read captions or to enlarge:

Pauline and Siddy, the apple of each other’s eye.

I won the piece on the right in a blog drawing

Pauline incorporated my father’s postage stamps into this stunning, mixed media

In Laurie’s home, Radford, Virginia

Pauline in Virginia

Pauline and Laurie in Virginia

In Washington, DC with Kelly and Pauline

Pauline and Lisa in Washington, DC

One of Pauline’s beloved light catchers

Our first night in Dunedin with Kelly, Laurie, Alys, and Pauline

With Pauline, trying out my selfie stick

Pauline created this gorgeous, Halloween-themed light catcher for my birthday

Blogging Babes on the road to Dunedin

Pauline’s daughter, Danella

Pauline with my husband, Mike in Queenstown

A gift from our New Zealand hosts

In Pauline’s garden with Kelly

Yupo paper design bookmarks, a gift from Pauline

Pauline and Laurie

Pauline King’s gift to my sister Sharon: The Wise Woman

Our final day in Wanaka, New Zealand: Kelly, Alys, Danella, Pauline, Steve, Laurie, Jo, and Mike

Please share your memories of Pauline in the comments below.

She is survived by her two daughters, Danella and Jo, two women who would make any mum proud.

November 10, 2019 by Born To Organize

Lauren

It’s impossible to reconcile the death of a child. It’s equally challenging not to sound trite when you say to her mother, who’s been cut to the quick, “I’m sorry for your loss.” The loss is unimaginable.

Lauren died from pulmonary edema just a few weeks shy of her 19th birthday. We’re all in shock.

We’ve known Lauren’s family for a decade. She attended our Halloween parties, hung out with my son at the park, and was an occasional passenger in the back seat of my van. No single event stands out as extraordinary, but instead a collection of ordinary memories that can be stored and retrieved and enjoyed.

Of course, I assumed there would be many more ordinary days because that’s the natural order of things.

Lauren had an easy-going nature and a lovely smile. I remember greeting her near the bus when they returned from 5th-grade science camp and I remember the day they all graduated from high school. She was a good friend to my son and a joy to have in our home. I can’t believe she’s gone.

My heart goes out to all who loved her, especially Kimmy, Amy, and Bill. xo

November 14, 2018 by Born To Organize

The New Abnormal

Assorted succulents against a back drop of Salvia (Mexican Sage)

It’s been a trying time in our beautiful state.

California Gov. Jerry Brown (D) in a Sunday press conference called the wildfires ravaging the state “the new abnormal,” warning environmental disasters will only “intensify” over the next two decades.

“Unfortunately, the best science is telling us that dryness, warmth, drought, all those things, they’re going to intensify,” he added.

I’ve been thinking back to my small efforts to bring my garden into alignment with the realities of living in our semi-arid state. They seem trivial now as we wait for rain, watching helplessly as forests burn, destroying homes and lives.

Succulents originate from dry, desert locations

Succulent comes from the Latin word “sucus”

My friend Laura moved to Paradise, California in June, looking forward to starting a slower-paced life away from Silicon Valley. She’s been fixing up their new home, installing a fence to contain their dog and choosing paint colors for the walls. Their contractor just finished a stairway to the deck.

Last Thursday, Laura’s family and others fled the small town of Paradise as one of the fastest moving and most destructive fires in California history tore through her town. Harrowing tales of fleeing down the highway with walls of flames on both sides are the norm. As of this writing, 138,000 acres burned, over 10,000 structures including homes have been destroyed and the death toll today climbed to 56. 52,000 people have been evacuated.

Succulents thrive in sunlight and dry air

On Sunday, Laura learned that her home was one of the 5% that survived, but it’s small comfort. The fire is expecting to burn for another two weeks, and when it’s finally out, the infrastructure is gone. Without phone lines, cell towers or electricity, there isn’t much to go back to. She’s staying here in the Valley with her folks, desperate to return home and hoping her cat is okay.

Meanwhile, a second massive fire burns in Southern California.

Cacti are succulents, but not all succulents are cacti

Our beautiful planet must surely weep with the agony of her destruction.

I appreciate all my friends out of the area that have reached out in concern. We live in Silicon Valley, and though close to forested areas, we’re a safe distance from the flames. Smoke from the fires hangs over the Bay Area, creating unhealthy air quality for a week. Schools are keeping children indoors and local marathons and foot races cancelled till further notice.

There is a sense of collective grief, with everyone knowing someone that’s been affected by these fires. We all want to help.