The Fezziwig News by Stu Jenks

...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.

 

Happy Halloween & Happy Birthday

"Wrightston Fog, Arizona" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

Happy Halloween and Happy Birthday to Mary Jenks. She would have been 85 years old today, but she died on July 7th.

Rest in peace, Mom. Maybe I'll see you floating above the streets tonight, or maybe I'll feel your spirit in the days and nights to come.

Know that you were loved, Mary.

"To The East, God & Humanness..."

Coming to the top of a graveyard bench, in a cemetery probably not near you. (except for y'all, Glenn & Brad.)

P.S. We caught the typo in 'Courage', so don't worry.

P.P.S. In Jackson, Tenn. right now. Plan on taking some blue highways to Memphis today.

"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.

"Wayfaring Stranger at Pamela and Mary Jenks' Graves"

"Pamela Jenks' Grave, St. Mary's Whitechapel Episcopal Church, Lively, Virginia" & "The Empty Living Room, Amherst Lane, Raleigh, North Carolina (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

 

At Mary and Pamela's funeral in Virginia, I played Wayfaring Stranger. Obviously, no one recorded it at our family plot, but in the cavernous, post-estate-sale living room at the Amherst house, I did. The song is in G minor, open tuning on my mandolin, and I played it as a waltz, rather than in 4/4. Hope you enjoy my version of this old tune.

Wayfaring Stranger (Amherst Lane)

 P.S. I'm off to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in San Francisco, and also to pick up a new, better surfboard at Nor Cal Surf Shop. I'll be back in Tucson, middle of next week and I'll fill all book orders when I return. Thanks for your patience with the orders, and thanks for your prayers around Pamela and Mary.

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 Pier Spiral: 2011

"The Pier Spiral, Rappahannock River, Virginia" (c) Stu Jenks, 2000, 2011 [A new cropped and modified version for Pamela and Mary Jenks]

Just a reminder. Funeral for Mary Jenks is tomorrow, Saturday, July 30th, at Grace St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Tucson, Arizona, at 2:00 p.m.

Enjoy the pier image. Everything changes. A hurricane took it out eight years ago. And Death has taken Pamela and Mary, but I'm still here as are all of you. Until we're not. Live for today.

Blessing to you all.

Stu

P.S. My website www.stujenks.com is down temporarily. Should be up by next week. Fezziwig Press and Fezziwig News are still up and running but www.stujenks.com is down, because I didn't see that the domain renewal was up. Been a little busy and a little scattered, don't you know. Thanks, y'all.

 

New Creed from an anonymous El Salvadoran peasant woman. (For Mary Elton Saum Jenks)

 

The below creedal statment was written by an anonymous peasant woman in El Salvador. It's from the book Prayers Encircling The World.

This creed will be the statement of faith at my mother Mary Jenks' funeral this Saturday, July 30th, 2011, at Grace St. Paul's Episcopal Church, 2331 E. Adams, Tucson, Arizona at 2 p.m. There will be a reception afterwards. Please come.

Rev. Steve Keplinger suggested this creed instead of the Nicene Creed. (Honestly, the Nicene Creed isn't even close to my own personal statement of faith. Thanks, Steve for this creed.) This prayer is so beautiful I think. I just had to put in on the StuBlog for those of you who can not attend the service. And I look forward to seeing all of you who can be there this Saturday.

Love and light,

Stu

Creedal Statement 

I believe, God, that everything good in the world comes from you.
I believe in your great love for all people.
I believe that, because you preached love, freedom and justice, you were humiliated, tortured and killed.
I believe that you continue to suffer in our people.
I believe that you call me to defend your cause,
But I also believe that you accompany me in the task of transforming this world into a different one, where there is no suffering or weeping:
A world where there is a gigantic table set with free food where everyone is welcome.
I believe that you accompany us in waiting for the dawning of a new day.
I believe that you will give us strength so that death does not find us, without having done enough, and that you will rise in those who have died seeking a different world.
Amen.

"Holding Mary's Hand"

"Holding Mary's Hand, Crossroads Adult Care Home, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks