The Fezziwig News by Stu Jenks

All 8 1/2" x 11" A/P archival pigment prints by Stu Jenks for $25, shipping, handling and taxes included...

Image: "Queen Esther Baptist Church, Lancaster, Virginia" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks (Just down River Road from Victoria's house. Love that luscious red carpet. And for you nocturnals out there, it was handheld. Rare for me.)

In this time of making photos on iPhones and Macbook Pros and only looking on screens, I forget I'm a old-school guy. I make a 8 1/2 x 11 work print on archival paper of EVERY image I make. EVERY one. It's the only way, for me, to accurately check for color shift, density, composition, etc. I really like my iPad screen but it's no way to make a good print.

And I have hundreds, if not thousands, of work prints artist proofs at my studio.

If you see an image of mine on The StuBlog or on my old website or on the Fezziwig Press Store or in any of my books, there's a beautiful small print in a box somewhere, perhaps with your name on it. And since I'm organized, I can find it.

Many of you can't afford my larger prints. I understand. I don't have an extra 50 or 100 lying around either. But I do have an extra $20 for stuff I really like.

So if you see an image of mine on any of my sites or in any of my books and you want it, it's yours for $25, shipping, handling and tax included. (I believe in paying taxes, sales and otherwise.)

Just email me at my facebook page or through the StuBlog or at stujenks@gmail.com, and tell me what print you would like or just pull the jpeg and send that to me.

I was just watching the Tarhells lose today in basketball, working on images at my computer when I thought, 'I bet people don't realize I have boxes of work prints here.'

You all do now.

Love and light,

Stu

p.s. Ignore the catagories belows. The computer went wacky. Another reason why I prefer a print in the hand as opposed to an image in The Cloud.

...The first draft of the novel is done!!!...

The first draft of the novel is done!!! It came in at 149,000 words, 552 pages in my document. Yeaaaa! I can't tell you how good it feels. The ending made me cry, as I hope it does you. (Last word in the novel, which won't change in revision: Sighs.) I want to jump right back to the beginning and start revisions, but Mary Ann suggests I take more than just a couple days off. OK. I'll take off three or four days. LOL. But then it's fixing this and revising that, then off to the editors. And I have ideas for the next novel in this series, too. I have some pretty great characters, I think, and I want to see what they will do next. But first things first. Get this novel to print.

One serious note: It took about a year to write this novel, but it almost didn't get done. With Mary and Pamela dying and all, I didn't work on it for about six weeks and it was so hard to get my momentum back. But I did. But it was difficult. If you are working on a novel or a large work, I recommend you plow through, even if the field is frozen. I've been told I'm very lucky to have gotten back on track.

Speaking of track, good luck to Danica Patrick tomorrow in the Daytona 500 and in the rest of Sprint Cup and Nationwide races this season. I might just have to go up to PHX next Saturday to watch her race.

By the way, did I mention I finished the freaking first draft of the novel?

Yeaaaaaaaaa!

Now available, on the Apple IPad: The Transpersonal Papers (1861-2010) and Bozo In Love

Been a long time coming for The Transpersonal Papers (1861-2010).

Three editors, two proofreaders, two designers, four printers, and hours, days, weeks, months, years, lifetimes, (I know I'm overstating), of writing, traveling, shooting, editing, remembering, hiking, and more writing, shooting, and editing, but I'm not complaining. No, no, no.

And apologies for not having the dough right now, to print The Transpersonal Papers as a coffee-table book as I had originally planned. ($10,000, it would have cost. Maybe someday.) But you now can buy it, for $14.95, as an Ebook on the Apple IPad, and I expect it to be available within a couple days on the Nook and the Kindle as well.

I just looked at it on my new IPad. The photos, text and design look grand.

And as an extra surprise, Bozo In Love is now up on IBooks too, ($9.95), as well as the rest of my catalog: Flame Spirals, Hoop Dancing, and Dementia Blues, on IBooks, Nook and Kindle.

Just in time for Christmas.

And don't worry. All but The Transpersonal Papers can still be bought as a book book through Fezziwig Press. I have plenty. Just go to www.fezziwigpressonline.com, for the hardbounds and paperbacks, but go to ITunes, today, (and Kindle and Nook, soon) for the ebooks.

Heavy sigh from my third story apartment balcony. I look out onto the Tucson city lights in the valley below. Cold, dry air embraces me. I inhale deeply. Exhale.

A very good night in the desert.

Think I'll make a cup of coffee with egg nog and play some Angry Birds on my new IPad.

Time to celebrate.

 

"Manns Chapel, Chatham County, North Carolina"

"Manns Chapel, Chatham County, North Carolina" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

Off to Raleigh tomorrow, one last time. (I've taken the 12:45 Delta from Tucson to Atlanta so many times in the past few months, I expect the flight attendents to say "Hello, Mr. Jenks. How are you?")

I'm renting a Penske truck on Tuesday, loading up the last of Pamela's things to bring them here to Tucson (A nice blond-wood work table, a huge chest-of-drawers, Pamela's old single bed from when she was a kid, and Mama Lillie's secretary desk I inherited in 1983, but had no way to get it out here. And some Christmas presents my sister wrapped before she died. Sweet of her, eh?)

And on Wednesday, I am closing on the Amherst house. Very sad but not for the reasons you might think. Since my father and mother did no maintenance on the house at all, basically letting my sister live in an old damp, moldy house, rent-free, for 20 plus years, The Amherst House, which would have been worth $250,000 or more on the recovering real estate market of Raleigh is now being sold for $110,000, as a tear-down. The man who is buying the home says he's going to fix it up but I don't quite believe him. (He has made plans to cut down all the trees on the property. That sounds like a tear-down to me. The land is worth $100,000 so he's getting a piece-of-crap Cape Cod for $10,000.)

Speaking of trees, the one bugaboo left to do is I have to get rid of the firewood in the basement. Some nice people from Pamela's church in Raleigh have taken some of it, but I have to dispose of the rest, before closing on Wednesday. I'm hoping the Wake County dump will take the logs but they may not. No one on Craiglist wants them, and that poor church in South Raleigh can't use them either. So I may just have to take the firewood back to the woods, unloading it along a nice piece of river.

I kind of hope I get arrested.

"Stu Jenks, artist and photographer from Tucson, Arizona, was arrested today for putting wood back into the woods. Reports are that Jenks laughed hysterically as the sheriff slapped on the handcuffs. It is uncertain if he was intoxicated at the time."

So I'll be away for about ten days. I'm taking my Rollei with me and some Christmas lights too, to perhaps do some hoop dancing photography in the moonlight. I am driving across some pretty country, don't you know? And if you want to buy the image rights of something, or a hardbound book, you'll have to wait until I get home. Then again, some of my books are on the IPad now. Hint, hint. But no worries. Just letting you all know I'll gone for a while.

OK. I should stop writing now. I really should. I really really should. But I'm not.

On a book note, I am writing a conclusion to Dementia Blues, called Dementia Red, telling the stories of Pamela and Mary Jenks' last days and weeks. With photos too.

And to those of you in Virginia who needed to ambush me at my sister and mother's burials, to tell me how you didn't like Dementia Blues (You know who you are), I guess you forgot I make a very small living writing things as well as photographing things. And eventhough I'm getting a little demented now myself, my memory is still pretty good. I'll be changing your names and the places in Dementia Red, but I won't be changing your words.

Oh, and shame on you for what you did to me, that rainy afternoon, and shame on you for what you did to my mother, three years ago.

Shame.

And as one of you jerks mockingly said to me that day in The Northern Neck,

"Oh, Stu, you aren't suffering financially."

Yea, I am. In a few ways, financials just being one.

I'm not getting much cash from these two estates. Pamela didn't have a pot to piss in, nor a window to throw it out of, and we had almost gone through all of Mary's money taking care of her here in Tucson before she died, with the expensive adult care home and all.

But I am grateful that there is some cash in the estates and in the sale of the Raleigh House; to pay all the heirs and debts of my mother (but sadly, many of Pamela's hospital bills will go unpaid); to pay for two nice gravestones for my mother and sister; to pay for the plane tickets and motels and the Penske truck and the rental cars these past few months; to pay for the storage locker here in Tucson; to have a little to give to some people who are in need; and to have some cash for me to get out of credit card debt at the end of all this; but I am not getting rich off of the death of my family.

So, to you Rich White Trash in Virginia, two words. Fuck you.

And even though I don't miss my mother very much, I do miss Pamela a lot. I feel a lot of compassion for her journey through life. She never got away from my crazy family. I did. And Pamela died way ahead of her time. Sure, she shares responsibility for her life, but my mother, on numerous occasions, told my sister, "...you aren't pretty enough to ever get married, Pam..."

Pamela was over 200 pounds when she died, and she never married.

Be careful what you say to your children. One hurtful statement probably won't fuck them up. A couple dozen times probably will.

I miss you Sis. Thanks for being a nicer person the last six months of your life. I truly wish I could call you on the phone and tell you what those horrible people at Mary's old church said to me after I buried you all. I wish I could say, "You were right, Pamela. You were so right."

And I do believe I feel your spirit these days, but it isn't the same as hearing you cuss like a sailor and hearing you laugh like a crazy person. I miss that.

Big hug and kiss, Pamela. Know that I love you. I hope I'm doing right by you.

And Mary, may the light of God always shine on you. I feel blessed that your dementia made you into a sweeter Mom. Mostly. And most people are loving you in Dementia Blues. You are a bit of a superstar, Mom.

OK, enough jokes and resentments. I need to finish packing.

See you all when I get home, and maybe I'll see a few of you on the road.

Look for a small Penske truck with firewood falling out its back and the police chasing it.

That'll be me.

Rev. Steve Keplinger's Sermon at the funeral of Mary Elton Saum Jenks

Rev. Steve Keplinger's Sermon at the funeral of Mary Elton Saum Jenks, Grace St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Tucson, Arizona, July, 30th, 2011.

[Photo: "Mary's Leaning, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks.]

    In the name of the God who is present with us in our deepest grief.  Amen.

    There are not many things more difficult in life than what you have just heard Stu Jenks achieve.  Capturing the essence of any individual who has lived a full and complete life is always a formidable task.  Doing so for someone as complex as Mary Jenks is darn near impossible.  But accomplishing all this when you are the one living in the land of intense personal loss and grief, well, that is almost unthinkable.  In the midst of losing both his mom and his sister, Stu has done this beautiful thing.  Thank you Stu for being willing to put yourself in this place of extreme vulnerability.  We are all the richer for hearing your Mom’s story from your lips.
    As Stu and others have shared their memories of Mary with me, I too have struggled with a way to capture such a brilliantly enigmatic character in so many words.  Mary was devilishly difficult to pigeonhole.  She was the epitome of the classic, graceful, elegant southern belle and she had all the refined sensibilities that go with it.  But at the exact same time, she was so opinionated and forceful that she did not want to let you up until you saw things her way.  Similarly, she was so fiercely and proudly Episcopalian that many were often a bit nervous to tell Mary that they were in another denomination.  But simultaneously, Mary’s theology was all about full inclusion of everyone and she absolutely and unequivocally believed that God is way too big for one religion. 
    While the most well known colloquial way to describe Episcopalians is to call them God’s frozen chosen, and while Mary was the most Episcopal like person most have ever experienced, Mary was never frozen a day in her life.  No one had any difficulty knowing exactly what was on her mind and no one ever stated their position more emphatically or with more fervor.  And while Mary had a deep and abiding relationship with God, the last thing she would tell you is that she was chosen.  In fact, as Stu has made clear to us, Mary believed we were all chosen and that Episcopalians certainly had no inside track to anything.
    This afternoon, we will all take part in the act of communion as a part of this service because it was so instrumental to Mary’s belief system.  For her, communion was as powerful an act as any of us can ever take part, because it captures the essence of the beloved community.  She was all about community, but at the same time, she was more of a rugged individualist than John Wayne. 
    Finally, since the earliest days of Anglicanism during the reign of Elizabeth I, this has been the church of the Via Media, the middle way.  We have always been about finding a way to allow very diverse philosophies to live together.  Our goal has always been to be a church where people could worship together despite our theological differences.  Never has an individual been more steeped in Anglicanism and the Via Media than Mary Jenks.  But in the midst of that Anglicanism, all of you who experienced the real Mary know that she, in the nicest, most southern way possible, made it crystal clear that it was, “My way or the highway.”
    How do we reconcile such a dichotomy?  More importantly, how did Mary?  This afternoon, I would suggest to all of you that for Mary, it was not difficult at all.  In fact, I would suggest that she never saw any of this as contradictory in the least.  She saw it as a simple matter of living her faith.  She saw it as embracing the very heart of Anglicanism.
    If there is a standard methodology for attacking Anglicanism and the whole idea of The Via Media, it is that this church does not stand for anything.  Via Media is often heard in today’s culture as a theology that does not come down in favor of or against anything.  It is heard as a theology for the wishy-washy.
    But as Mary Jenks knew so well, that is not what Via Media means at all.  Via Media is about balance, it is about realizing that Newton’s third law of Physics applies to faith also, for every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction.  In Taoism, this is referred to as the yin/yang.  In Native American tradition, it is called walking the red road.  The point is, it is about balance in your life and holding the tension that exists when things are not black and white.  What Mary knew better than all of us is that this is the nature of the world.  As much as we would all love a world where evil and good are easily discernible from one another, none of us actually believes that.  We might want our religion to be simplistic because of the complex world surrounding us, but we know darn well that it is not and cannot be “God said it, I believe it and that settles it.”  Mary knew that this does not settle anything.  The key for a helpful faith then, is to teach us how to live in ambiguity, to live in the tension of the place between being a southern lady and also getting across your point.  The tension between being a fiercely loyal Episcopalian while also being a universalist.
    That is the Via Media that Mary embraced, a faith that was never for one second wishy washy, a faith that kept life in balance by being the enigma that the world saw. 
    It is this faith that allowed Mary Jenks to see beyond the notion that church is all about “making nice.”  It is what allowed her to take sides when Anglicanism came under attack from the inside in the last 20 years.  When most sat around during the battles going on in this Communion and said, “Can’t we all just get along?”, it was Mary Jenks deep faith, steeped in the theology of Anglicanism that convinced her that she had no choice but to defend the ordination of women in this church.  It is what convinced her that she had no choice but to stand for up for full inclusion of gays and lesbians in this church because she knew darn well that this is what Jesus would have done.  She was able to do so even though almost everyone in her generation disagreed with her, because she understood the nature of Anglicanism and was able to interpret the words of Jesus for a new time and place.
    That beloved, is an amazing accomplishment.  But Mary Jenks went far beyond that.  She made this bold stand in the midst of the greatest siege of The Episcopal Church.  Because while the press was concentrating on the flamboyant events occurring in the Diocese of San Joaquin and Pittsburgh, the real battle for this church was going on in Mary’s home Diocese of Virginia.  When Gene Robinson was elected Bishop of New Hampshire, the last piece was put in place.  Those who were still fuming within the church about women’s ordination, saw this as their opportunity to storm the bastille.  They would start in Virginia, because many churches there, including Mary’s home parish of St. Mary’s White Chapel, were incorporated before The Episcopal Church had formed.  If these properties were parishes before the Episcopal Church existed, they argued, then they could not legally be owned by The Episcopal Church, giving them the opportunity to not just leave the wider church, but take the property with them.  It was a brilliant strategy.
    What the defectors did not count on however, was Mary Jenks.  In the midst of it all, she stood firmly and resolutely with her Bishop and her friend, Peter Lee.  In the end, the coups would fail.  Mary stood for the Gospel and for the protection of Anglicanism and a church where everyone was welcome and included, even those who disagreed with her.
    I have to tell you, I cannot help but feel a bit cheated for not having had the opportunity to experience Mary in all her regal feistiness.  I have no doubt that she had the ability to be a royal pain, but it is also obvious that it was this same fierce character that gave her the ability to make such a strong impact on the world around her.  Her enigmatic ways went a long way to keeping intact the heart of The Episcopal Church and helping others to realize that all of us are children of God.
    The spirit and chutzpah of Mary Jenks is exactly what this church needs right now and in the years ahead.  It is exactly what Jesus taught us to be.  Mary’s service on the Standing Committee of the Diocese of Virginia and her role as a women’s historian in the church will not soon be forgotten.  Her love of church music and her years of service as a choir director will be a major part of her legacy.  But it will be her fiercely loyal protection of her friends and those who were being oppressed that will always make Mary a saint for me. 
    May each of us have the courage to follow her example and be an enigma to the world.  May each of us learn from her how to live in ambiguity and enjoy every moment of it.  May each of us relish every moment of life and always stand proudly with anyone and everyone who has been rejected by others, just as Mary taught us.  Amen.
 
  

The Joy Spot Rock: The Eulogy of Mary and Pamela Jenks

 

"The Joy Spot Rock, Hopi Reservation, Arizona" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

 

The Eulogy of Mary & Pamela Jenks
June 1st, 1949 - June 21st, 2011;
October 31st, 1926 - July 7th, 2011
[Spoken today at Grace St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Tucson, Arizona]

    I’m Stu Jenks and I’m the only son of Stuart & Mary Jenks.
    I’m also Pamela Jenks’ only sibling.
    Before I praise Mary who died on the 7th of July, I’d like to say a few words of kindness regarding my sister Pamela, who died on June 21st of this year.
    Pamela suffered much of her life, some by her own hand, and some by the hands of others. I was with her in her final hours. She was glad that I was there as was I. We hugged each hard, that Tuesday afternoon, not letting go. I love my sister and she loved me. She support my art and the family supported her. I truly miss her. Think of her when you watch a Harry Potter film.
    Pamela, may you suffer no more, and may you bathe in the Light of God, forever.
    Now, Mary.
    It’s kind of like Christmas in July today, isn’t it?
    We have sung a few Christmas carols today. I like these hymns and so did Mary. In Mom’s final days and hours, I sang some of what we are singing today to her. She sang along as best she could. It was one of the more touching times I ever spent with my mother. Ever.
    Mary had a difficult upbringing. Let’s just put it that way. Her early troubles echoed throughout her entire life. She sometimes tried too hard to gain the love and affection of her family and friends, and inadvertently she pushed people away. She just wanted to be loved for who she was, just like we all do.
    She met and married my father Stuart Jenks Sr. in the late 1940’s and they were married 52 years until his death in 2001. She never really recovered from his death. Stuart was her rock, as she often said. When the rock crumbled, she began to break apart as well.
    Her dementia hit suddenly and profoundly. In less than six months in 2008, she went from living independently in an apartment in The Foothills to living at Crossroads Adult Care Center, wheelchair-bound and very frightened. Thank you, Marlee, for finding Crossroads for us. And thank you to all who work at Crossroads. You took such wonderful care of my mother.
    Mary faded away these last three years. But as Mom slowly went away, she was still very much Mary Jenks. She could still turn a phrase. She was still the daughter of Southern landed gentry. She was still my Mom.
    And if Mary has a legacy, it’s with the Episcopal Church. She was active in the church all of her life. She was choir director at St. Mary’s Whitechapel in Lively, Virginia, a vestry member numerous times, a church historian for The Virginia Episcopal Women,   served on many Diocesen Executive Boards and she was a member of The Standing Committee of The Diocese of Virginia. And even though Mary was anything but a shrinking violet, she was modest about her achievements on The Standing Committee. Here’s just one.
    When many in the Diocese of Virginia abandoned Bishop Peter Lee as he fought for the rights of gays to be bishops in the Church, my mother Mary Jenks stood beside him, publicly proclaiming that gays and lesbians were children of God and should be allowed all the rights and privileges in the Church. I was very proud of my mother and I told her so.
    Mary also taught me three important religious ideas: 1) There is no Hell outside of the Hell on Earth that Man creates for himself, 2) that it isn’t money that is the root of all evil but rather the love of money that is the root of all evil, and 3) that through Grace, God loves you and you and everyone and everything on the Planet and in the Universe. You don’t have to believe in God or in Jesus, or in whatever, for God loves you none matter what, because that’s just how God is. God is love.
    But Mom had no truck with overly pious Christians. Granted she liked some of the Baptist, Evangelicals, and Catholic laypeople who visited her at Crossroads, but she loved most of all, those of you from Grace St. Paul’s, who brought her communion every week or who just brought yourselves, to sit and spend some time with her. I, as her son, am truly grateful to you all. 
    And thank you, Courtney Saum, Mary’s only brother. He called his sister, many times each week, for years, just to say hello and to send his love. Mary really appreciated those calls. Courtney couldn’t be here today, due to his own failing health, but he asked me to read this to you all:
    “Mary, I love you dearly” he says. “There is a strong bond between siblings and I know we had one. I know you are in a better place. I know the Good Lord will take a liking to you. You know I love you, Miss Mary.”
    Courtney Saum.

    But one religious man she didn’t like very much. Let’s call him Paul.
    Paul was a Catholic layperson who would come by Crossroads, about once a week. He wore a huge cross around his neck, rivaling the gold jewelry of any hip hop artist. A year ago, he rudely pushed by me when Mary was sick, to say the Lord’s Prayer over her body. I decided not to have words with him that day, but I pledged to myself that Paul would never push by me again without a serious consequence. But that confrontation never happened. Mary, let us say, let her feelings be known.
    One afternoon, I was finishing up a visit with Mary, when in walked Paul.
    “Hey, honey,” Paul said to Mary. “How are you today?”
    She ain’t your honey, pal, I thought.
    Mary looked at me, and then up at Paul. Then Mom loudly proclaimed, with as much disdain as she could muster...
    “Well, looky here. It’s Mr. Let-Us-Pray.”
    The insult went completely over his head.
    I kissed my mother goodbye but the moment I shut the front door behind me, I started to laugh and I didn’t stop laughing until I had driven at least a half mile away from the house.
    Sadly, Mary suffered a lot in her last couple years of life. Her body betrayed her. Her mind failed her. I’m grateful we had the money to put her up in a nice adult care home. I’m grateful too, that she lived near me, here in Tucson. I would visit her a few times each week and I could keep track of her health and care. And Mom was generous before she became sick, giving me and many others a little money to help as she could. But more than the money, Mom accepted that she had an artist for a son. My father had a tough time with that, but he eventually, kinda, sorta, came around. But Mom just wanted me to succeed in anything I did, whether I was helping others to achieve sobriety in my counseling work, or whether I was making flame spirals in the desert night and selling the images.
    “I want you to be famous,” she would say. “Mom,” I would reply “I’m already pretty well known. What we want is for me to be rich and famous.” “Then rich and famous it is,” she’d say and we would laugh.
    A night or two before Mary died, before I left her bedside to drive home for the night, I kissed her forehead, careful not to wake her and whispered to her, “Mom, I’ll see you tomorrow or I’ll see in Heaven.”
    It’s my version of a favorite Buddhist saying:
    “I’ll see you later, unless I die.”
    Mom, I won’t see you in the flesh tomorrow, but I hopefully I’ll see you in Heaven.
    Or something like Heaven.
    Or maybe you’ll be a spot of wind blowing by my ear as I walk in the desert, or a crash of thunder from an Arizona monsoon, echoing off a mountain side .
    That would be nice. I’ll take that.
    Lastly, I’m doing OK. Granted, I feel a large void where my family used to be. It’s just me now, an uncle and a few cousins. But I know, really know, that the spiritual path is one taken alone, with others.
    Alone, with others.
    It’s a paradox, that I can’t grow without the help and care of family and friends, but ultimately, it just me and God, late at night, worrying about this and that, and finding relief in the dawn after a dark night.
    But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I feel a very big space, over there somewhere, where the souls and personalities of Mary and Pamela Jenks once were.
    Luckily, I have the love of my friends and the light of God to see me through.    

    I love you, Mom.
    Love you too, Pamela.
    And if you see Dad, give him my love.   
   

The Funerals for Mary Saum Jenks (and a film for Pamela Jenks)

The Funerals For Mary Saum Jenks (and a film for Pamela Jenks)

Images: "Broken Lock, Bynam, North Carolina", "Maundy Thursday Hoop Dance, Grace St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Tucson, Arizona" & "Mary Jenks' Last Five Days, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

The dates have been set. Mary Jenk's' first funeral will be on Saturday, July 30th, 2011 at 2 p.m. at Grace St. Paul's Episcopal Church at 2331 E. Adams, Tucson, Arizona. (The church is one block south of The Arizona Inn.) The service has been designed to not only bid farewell to my mother Mary, but also to allow all who attend to have the opportunity to grieve whatever losses they may have. I've personally chosen the music, hymns, creeds, and prayers, to not only reflect my mother's religious beliefs but my own spiritual values as well. Please come. A reception will be held afterwards in the Parish Hall adjacent to the church.

Also, on Saturday, September 17th, 2011 at 2 p.m. at St. Mary's Whitechapel on 5490 Whitechapel Road near Lancaster, Virginia, a second service will be performed for Mary Jenks. This will be a more traditional service. Also, at this service, both my mother Mary's and my sister Pamela's ashes will be buried at the Jenks family plot behind the Chapel. Those in the Virginia/North Carolina area may wish to attend this service.

Hope to see y'all at either of these two services.

At the botton of this post is the last image I took of Mary alive. It is an unpleasant image but I worked hard to make it less harsh. Mom never minded having pictures taken of her by me, in her final years of life. (see 'Dementia Blues'). She rather liked all the attention and she did love her son. I'll write more about Mary's death, but not now. Let's just say I was there when Mary died. It was very sad. I told her I loved her as she took her last breath. Truly, much like with my sister Pamela, Death was a blessing. Neither women now suffer.

And today, the last Harry Potter film came out. My sister Pamela was a huge fan of Rowlings' books and she was trying to stay alive long enough to see the film. She did not make it. I am profoundly sad about this, for she would have been at an early showing today. Tomorrow I will attend Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallow, Part Two in her honor. Perhaps, just perhaps, her spirit will take a seat next to mine.

"Mono Lake Hoop Dances" (and some news of Mary Jenks)

"Mono Lake Hoop Dance, California" (c) Stu Jenks & Shawn Peterson 2011

The top image is mine, the second image, Shawn Peterson's. We both shot the same hoop dance at the same time: my image a bit longer exposure using my Rollei, Shawn shooting with his Canon 5D Mark II. I can't tell you how joyous that shoot was, that night, just three weeks ago. Shawn and I and the others on the pumice field near Mono Lake, laughed and shoot and had just the best time. And each image of these two images has its own magic: mine, a bit warmer and with more contrast, Shawn's, cooler in color with more shadow detail. An excellent example of how we each may look at the same time but we all see things through our own eyes.

And a lot has happened in the last three weeks. Pamela died of metastatic breast cancer two weeks ago and it appears Mary is finally succuming to her dementia. She hasn't eaten in two days, can now longer swallow and drifts in and out of consciousness. I'm gettin ready to go over to Crossroads in a hour or so. We may have to up the morphine a bit for Mary is now in some pain. Once every 4 hours may not be enough to keep her confortable. The little water sponges on sticks really helps with keeping her mouth moist though.

And there will be two funerals for Mary Jenks, one here in Tucsson at Grace St. Paul's Episcopal Church and one at St. Mary's Whitechapel in Lively, Virginia. The service here is for all who knew Mary, of course, but mostly, it's for those of you who want to come to give me a hug. And I've prepared quite a little service for Mary, with some live harmonium music by me, a few touching songs that I love, and a good number of hymms Mary loves as well. (The service at St. Mary's Whitechapel will be more traditional Episcopalian. And both Pamela and Mary will be buried at the same time, or so it seems.)

Mary could rallies like she has done a half dozen times over the last two years, but I don't think so. This looks, feels and smells different. Mary appears to be doing the hard work of dying now.

And feel free and continue to send your love, via my Facebook page. I've told Mary that a lot of my friends are praying for her. Understandably, it doesn't seem to mean much to her now, but it means a lot to me. Thanks for all the love and compassion that you are giving to my family and I.

I truly do feel it.

Love, light & luck,

Stu

p.s. I found out that Mary fell from her wheelchair and broke her hip, two hours after Pamela had died. She didn't know Pamela was dead at that point, or did she? I can feel Pamela's spirit around some and she seems to be with our mother when I enter Mary's bedroom now. All the old angers have fallen away from Pamela. Pamela simply glows now. It's nice. She seems to be holding Mary's hand as much as I. Call me crazy if you like, but Pamela is around. Happy to have her on the job. And all of you as well.

"Hoop Dances For My Sister Pamela"

"Hoop Dances For My Sister Pamela, Joshua Tree National Park, California" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

    The Mohave Desert winds rage. Semi-trucks roar on the Interstate a mile to my south, but not nearly as loud as this wind.
    Just a hint of light to the west. A Brownie Starflash camera, older than I, sits on its tripod ready to shoot its long exposures. I click the shutter open, hoping it’ll stay stuck open for as long as I need. Fifteen, twenty minutes should do.
    I walk in front of the tall Ironwood tree I’ve picked to be the star of this image. I eye the wide angle of view I’ll have with the Brownie. I can put maybe seven or eight hoops in this view, spread out enough to denote spaciousness, yet clustered together enough to imply community. I begin to spin the Christmas lights. I make the first hoop. I then move a few steps to my left.
    Then Pamela comes to mind. I say a prayer. I make the second hoop dance. My prayer is simple.
    “God, I don’t expect you to cure Pamela’s cancer. It’s in her bones. It’s in her ribs. It’s in her nerves. It’s filling her left arm. But God, I pray that good men and women, doctors and laypeople alike, find the right treatments and drugs to ease her pain. She says that on a scale from one to ten, God, her pain is a thirteen. Help her with this pain, God. Help her.”
    I spin hoop dance number three, then four, then five, thinking of my dying sister, praying for her release from pain, but proud of how she is soldiering on, aware of her fate, yet smelling (literally) the roses, and gazing with wonder and joy at the dogwoods in her backyard. She is praying for a miracle but she knows that cancer sometimes, many times, most times, is more powerful than God when it comes to the body. But she also knows that cancer can do nothing to kill her soul, to wound her spirit, unless she lets it. And being my sister, she’s telling her cancer to “Fuck off, God-damn-it! You can’t have my soul!”
    I spin a couple more hoop dances. I look toward the Brownie. I think I’m out of its view now. I walk among the creosote bushes and let the ambient light do its job, lighting the distant mountains and the foreground plants, so that everything registers on the silver in the film.
    The winds gust harder, shaking the top limbs of the Ironwood tree. Against the lighter sky, they’ll make a beautiful blur, if I leave the shutter open long enough. And that is the plan. But there are no guarantees with this old Brownie camera. No guarantees at all with anywhere. All I’m entitled to is air and gravity. Everything else is either something I work for, or a gift. Mostly they are gifts.
    Off to LA for a couple days, then San Francisco, then home to Tucson.
    And then, I’m guessing, to Raleigh, North Carolina, to do what needs to be done. Take my sister to radiation treatments, buy some groceries, sit and laugh with Pamela. We won’t be crying together. Pamela’s a tough old bird. But I know Mr. Stu. At some point, in a room by myself or in The Rooms of The Anonymous, I’ll shed some tears.
    But first things first. Got to do this California part-business / part-pleasure trip first. Promote ‘Dementia Blues’. See Scala perform.
    I close the shutter on the Brownie by slapping it hard on its side. I hear the shutter click closed. I pack up my gear and head back to my car.
    I’m tired. I think I’ll camp here for the night.

 

 

[Note: This image was shot on April 7th, 2011, and to make it (and all images) larger on the StuBlog, just double click on it.]

"Quinlan Mountain Spiral"

"Quinlan Mountain Spiral, Arizona" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

Fun fact: The blue dome in the distance is Baboquivari Peak. I'itoi, the Tohono O'odham god, lives in a cave below the peak. If you visit his cave, be sure to bring a gift. If you don't, you might not find your way out. Truly. Do you really want to mess with a God? Really? (Grin.) It's a wonderful hike up to I'Itoi's. Been there a couple three times. Google I'Itoi's Cave to find directions. And bring that gift.

To hike the Quinlans, you need no gift, other than a good pair of legs and a good sense of direction. No paths other than game trails crisscross these hills, but the deer and javalinas know where to go. Just follow them. Or you can bushwhack to the top of a quartz-peppered hill and draw a spiral in the ground. Or stand quietly among the Mexican Live Oaks and listening to the wind. Or all or none of the above.