Peg Kerr's Journal

Christmas itself was pretty quiet for me. Delia was in Eau Claire with her fiancé's family, and the Onas gathered with Alona's family. They invited Eric and me to join them, but Eric wanted to keep things low-key because he was still recovering from his surgery. So I made roast duck for the two of us on Christmas Eve:



any my traditional Christmas breakfast on Christmas morning:



In my family, however, Christmas isn't over on the 26th of December. My extended family gathers between Christmas and New Year's day:



My brother, who lives in New York, has been faithfully bringing his entire family out for family week for decades. We gather in various configurations: some go out to movies. Some of my nephews and nieces went to one of my nephew's house to get a lesson in throwing pottery. We gathered with my mom for lunch one day in the party room of her assisted living facility. We gathered in the evenings to eat hors d'ouevres, cook food together, and play games. And as always, we gathered at my sister Cindy's house on New Year's Eve and spent the day together, feasting on Chinese take out and sharing memories. All of the nieces and nephews had stories to tell of their memories of family week. My brother-in-law remarked how splendid it is to see the rich and deep relationships that the cousins share with one another, which have been nurtured by our family traditions of getting together every year to enjoy one another's company.

This year we had the additional joy of two new babies joining the festivities. M is a genuine extrovert who obviously had a wonderful time flirting with everyone, and when Fiona and Alone arrived each evening, there were plenty of eager volunteers to cuddle with her.

We genuinely enjoy each other.

I hope you all had as splendid a holiday as my family and I did.

This is my last collage of the year, but I intend to continue next year.

Image description: Top: members of a family, men and women, smile at the camera. Below: a table covered with a red tablecloth set for Christmas breakfast. Right: an older woman holding a walker (Peg's mom) stands beside a younger woman (Peg). Lower right corner: four young woman smile. Left corner: a silver candlestick with a gold lit candle with two glittering snowflake brooches.

Christmas



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You know, I do my best to just live my life and be a brave little toaster, but this week, it's just felt like...a lot.

I need to get a new car. Mine is twenty-five years old and leaking coolant. And I don't know where or how to start. Will I be able to afford anything decent?

Pain continues. The physical therapist has ordered me to use a cane. I have to use it in my (non-dominant) left hand, the one with arthritis, and just manipulating it with that hand is difficult enough that I have to start using my arthritis brace on that hand again.

I've also been told to wear an IS brace, a velcro strap that goes around my hips. Weirdly enough, it gives me nausea. Constantly.

Medical appointments. So. Many. Medical. Appointments.

All of this makes it difficult to exercise. And I NEED to exercise. I got the results of my bone scan this week, and my osteopenia is continuing to get worse. I need to get into the gym and lift weights and I'm not doing so, and so I'm beating myself up about it.

The news. Need I say more?

Christmas is looming, and the thought of preparing for the holidays is daunting.

I'm about to retire, and I am struggling with uncertainty about what it is going to look like. (Will I have enough money is giving me constant low-grade anxiety)

Rob's 70th birthday was this past week.

Both of the girls have been sick and stressed. Delia's internship is about to end, and she doesn't know where she will find another job.

On Wednesday, I had to sit through a meeting that droned on for an hour and a half. I kept standing up and sitting down again. I was so obviously uncomfortable that my coworkers sent me home, and I spent the rest of the day with the covers literally pulled over my head.

I'm sorry. I'm complaining, and I truly don't like that. I don't feel depressed, exactly? But I don't feel at my best, shall we say.

Image description: Background: a light-filled doorway in a room with gray peeling paint. Superimposed over it: a semi-transparent image of a woman's face with eyes closed, strands of hair blowing over her eyes. Lower center: a statue with green patina of a woman, holding her hand to her forehead. Upper left corner: a dried leaf clings to a twig.

Melancholy



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Last Sunday, Delia called me up to ask, "Hey, do you want to go to Pandafest?"

Uh, sure. What is Pandafest?

It turned out to be an outdoor festival showcasing Asian foods and vendors, held just outside the Mall of America. It was a fiendishly hot day, which was definitely a drawback, but I ended up being super glad I went, and we did have fun. Since it was so hot, a lot of the fried food didn't look too appealing, but with a little hunting, we were able to find a booth selling cold soba salad, which hit the spot nicely. We tried steamed pork buns, fruit skewers covered with a hard candied coating, coconut ice cream with mango, and fried donuts. Yum! There were performers, and we watched the Korean dancers (pitying them a bit for having to dance in their traditional costumes under the hot sun).

I have been feeling so sick for so long that it definitely felt nice to get out and do something new and fun. Thanks for the suggestion, Delia!

Image description: Foreground Peg (left) and Delia (right). Delia is eating fried donut balls on a skewer. Between them is a "Pandafest: Twin Cities" stick pin. Behind them, center: two Korean woman dancers flourish fans and a tycho drummer are overlaid over a giant inflatable panda. Behind the panda, top: Chinese steamed buns in several different flavours.

Pandafest



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I like coffee. No, I love it.

I was thinking this week that not only do I drink it every day, but it is also a common element in almost all of my most important social interactions. I get together regularly to walk with a couple of friends each week, and we always follow our walk by buying coffee together (lately, I've been adding a half shot of lavender syrup to mine). I get together regularly with my mom and sisters for coffee and scones. Every Friday, I get together remotely with several writing friends--we originally met in a coffee shop until the pandemic. Eric and I usually meet on Saturday mornings at my house for coffee and pastries. (He uses the Brontë mug and I use the Jane Austen mug). I have taught him all about the delight of adding molasses to enrich the flavor.

I didn't drink coffee until I was in my thirties, but teaching writing composition at the University to hungover freshman at 8:00 am made it eventually seem necessary.

Oddly enough, neither Delia nor Fiona ever developed a taste for it. I would love to go out for coffee with them, but we have to console ourselves with brunch instead.

Against a semi-transparent background of coffee beans, a smiling woman (Peg) holds a cup of coffee. Bottom: two coffee mugs (Jane Austen mug and Brontë mug), with a sprig of lavender. Lower left: a jar of molasses. Upper left corner: a latte with latte art in the foam and a scone with jam and clotted cream.

Coffee



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I attended an ordination last weekend, and the pastor explained during the announcement portion of the services that out in the narthex, there was a table containing bags with sticks of chalk and a piece of paper explaining the tradition of doing a house blessing at Epiphany. We were all encouraged to take them home. I was intrigued, as I had never heard of this custom before, and I took home the bag with the chalk and read the paper.

It said:

For centuries, Christians have celebrated the season of Epiphany by chalking their outside front door with a blessing. You are invited to try it at your home.

The Traditional Chalk Blessing:

20 † C † M † B † 25

Surrounding the blessing is the date of the new year (2025). The crosses between the letters symbolize Christ.

CMB has two meanings. It signifies the traditional names of the three magi who visited Jesus (Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar), and it stands for the Latin phrase "Christus mansionem benedictat," meaning "May Christ bless this house."

Reading about this tradition got me thinking about my house.

Rob and I moved into this house in December 1992. I realized, counting back, that I am almost at the exact point where I have lived half my life in this house.

I thought of a song I've loved for years by one of my favorite artists, Peter Mayer, "Houses of Winter," which imagines homes as almost sentient entities, watching over the people in their keeping. ( The Houses of Winter )



When we moved into this house, I was seven months pregnant with Fiona (convenient, because I wasn't expected to lift anything heavier than a waste basket on moving day). I brought my babies home to this house and raised them here. Rob and I loved each other here, and it was my anchor when he died.

This home has sheltered a family. Now it is just me.

I have often wished I come up with a proper name for the house, as some of my friends have for their own homes, but nothing ever quite seemed to fit. Yet it has a personality. It was built in 1916 and has beautiful bones, but it is whimsical and sometimes temperamental, too. The furnace in the basement is original to the house, an octopus monstrosity that crouches in the darkness, tentacles reaching in all directions, hemmed in by asbestos, greedy as hell for natural gas, yet as reliable as could be desired. The electrical system is barely adequate. The floors slope toward the midline, the tile floor in the bathroom is cold, and the light switch in the bedroom says 'NO' instead of 'ON' because it was installed upside down. The less said about the paneling installed in the hallway and two of the bedrooms, the better.

The house regularly demands tribute in expensive repairs: a new roof. Drain tile in the basement. Regular repainting. The walls are threaded through with cracks in the plaster.

I have tried to make my home more my own as I have been slowly cleaning out Rob's stuff. I have never had a pet while living here (allergies make it impossible). It is just me. And the house.

I've eaten tomatoes and Swiss chard grown in the backyard and cooked thousands of meals in the kitchen. I've probably cried in just about every room in the house. The walls have soaked up so much laughter, the yells from so many fights, the joy of so many celebrations (perhaps that's why they are cracking so much).

It feels almost like...like it's the two of us now, the house and me. It is almost anthropomorphic, in other words, as in the Peter Mayer song. This house has watched over and sheltered my family, been my comfort and haven in times of struggle and grief. Now it watches over me. It seems more personal. Just as it has been a blessing to me, it seems only fitting to bless and thank the house in return.

Background: a dark wooden front door, overlaid at the top with a stitched sampler reading 'Bless This House." The top of the door has an inscription in white letters "20 † C † B † M † 25." Lower center: a mesh bag containing a piece of chalk hovers over three porcelain figurines of the three wise men. A pair of hands reaches up from the bottom, cupping the sampler in blessing.

Blessing



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I drove to Eau Claire on Saturday and joined Fiona, Alona, Chris (Delia's boyfriend), and Lisa (Chris's mom) in the roasting gymnasium (the air conditioner was broken) to watch Delia's college commencement. Of course, I cried when the announcement was made that all the students should switch their tassels to the other side because they had officially graduated. It was bittersweet, because Rob had wanted so badly to live long enough to see his little girl walk at her commencement. But there was a lot of joy, too.

I stayed overnight at Chris's family home, and we had a leisurely breakfast and then set up a taco bar for the graduation party that we held for Delia and Chris (who graduated last December).



It was a wonderful weekend. Delia's aunts (Rob's sisters) came in from Seattle and Phoenix to join us for the party, and her uncle (Rob's brother) and his wife, both professors at Eau Claire, were there, too, to celebrate.

Image description: Three women (from left to right: Fiona, Delia, and Peg) stand under a tree and smile at the camera. The center woman (Delia) is wearing an academic mortarboard and graduation gown, draped with a multi-colored feather boa. lower center: smiling woman (Delia) holds up a mortarboard that reads 'IT'S ABOUT DAMN TIME: I'm done with this BS.' Upper center: Lettering reads "Congratulations" with a mortarboard and diploma.

Graduation



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When I came downstairs this morning, this was the picture that was on display in the digital frame that Fiona and Alona gave me for Christmas. Seeing it gave me a great deal of comfort, as if it were a sign that Rob was sending his love.



I was pretty pleased with my appearance. I think I polished up pretty well.





The wedding was in a lovely private club in Summit Avenue in St. Paul. Delia was Fiona’s attendant and in fact walked with her down the aisle.



I didn’t take very many pictures during the ceremony because I was using my phone to record the ceremony. Fiona and Alona wrote their own very moving vows. They incorporated a hand fasting braided cord (blue, green, and brown), and seven meditations on love from various writers. At the end, they both stomped on a cloth-covered glass and we all cried ‘Mazel Tov!’



There were hors d'oeuvres and cake and champagne, music and conversation and dancing. There was a lot of joy. Alona’s sister Mary and Delia gave moving speeches.

It was a wonderful day. I am delighted with my new daughter-in-law and overjoyed by this new addition to our family.





Edited to add: Check out the mood icon. For once, this line from Pride and Prejudice is absolutely perfect.

Two things happened this week that struck me as particularly significant, signs of life passage for me as a parent.

I gave the instructions to the Minnesota 529 College Savings plan to send the last payment to Delia's university and then to close the account. We started making these payments in, what, 2011, when Fiona started college. And it has taken eight years for Delia to get through, but she will be graduating this May.

Secondly, I ordered my mother-of-the-bride dress for Fiona's wedding, which will be taking place next month (it's pictured in the collage below).

I wish that Rob was here to celebrate with me, but nevertheless, I am so, so happy to have arrived at this point.

I like this card, and I think that I have really improved in making these collages over the past three years. I have used some layering techniques in this one (like the one that gives the interior of the room a glow) that I think elevate this card above the ordinary.

An open door shows a room interior with another open door showing beyond. Inside the room, just inside the door, stands a woman's figure wearing a navy blue long gown with a beaded yoke. Superimposed over the woman's head are a pair of hands holding a heart shape from which a bright light emerges that illuminates the room. Toward the top of the doorway are the words "MN Saves Minnesota 529 College Savings Plan.” Superimposed over the woman's feet are the words "University of Wisconsin Eau Claire." 2024 52 Card Project: Week 3: Passages

Passages



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The last two years of this collage project, I have produced cards commemorating the Thanksgiving celebrations I've had with my family. The card for this week is, in a way, a Thanksgiving card, too, only it comes at the concept from a slightly different angle.

First of all, we received word on Wednesday that Fiona has been accepted into the St. Paul plumber's apprenticeship program. She has been working faithfully in her employer's warehouse since May, pulling plumbing fittings, throughout the 100-degree heat this summer. Had she not been picked (they only accept one candidate out of three) she would have had to wait a whole more year to apply again (unless she were to try her luck with a different city's union). Now she will get a raise and begin combining classes with her job. The program will take five years for her to finish. This is wonderful news and we are all absolutely overjoyed for her.

The other wonderful happening this past Wednesday is a longer story, but trust me, it's worth it.

Rob and I got married in 1986. We picked out our wedding rings on Valentine's Day of that year. My ring had a brilliant cut diamond of modest size, about a third of a carat. I loved my ring and wore it proudly.

About fifteen or twenty years into our marriage, I happened to look down at my hand while I was in the shower, only to find that the diamond in the ring was missing. My heart plummeted. I shut off the water immediately and searched the tub, but I feared that the stone had washed down the drain. Anyway, the diamond was gone.

Now as it happened, Rob and I had been going through a rough patch. We were really strapped for money. But I didn't hesitate a moment. I had all the information on the stone and went back to the jeweler. They said that the ring was insured and for a nominal deductible, I could get the diamond replaced. So I did, getting another brilliant cut diamond of a similar grade. Rob told me later how much hope and comfort it gave him, that despite our troubles, my response was to immediately replace the diamond in my ring. It showed him my commitment to the two of us, knowledge he badly needed at the time.

About a month later, Delia came to me in great excitement. "Mom, you're not going to believe this. I found the diamond from your ring."

The girls' room was incredibly cluttered at this point in our family life. But one day as she was shifting piles of stuff from one part of the floor to the other, she spied a glint and immediately picked up the diamond.

It seemed like such a miracle. I thought hard about it, and then took both the diamond and the ring back to the jeweler and explained the situation. "If you want me to give the new diamond back, I understand. I put in the claim in all good faith, thinking it was lost."

"Nah," the jeweler said. "The claim has been processed by our insurance company, and you're clearly not trying to pull anything over on us. You paid the deductible. The new diamond is yours."

So I put my wedding ring back on, and I put the original stone in a plastic bag and placed it in one of my jewelry storage trays.

When Rob passed away, I wore my wedding ring for almost a year, but eventually, when I started seeing Eric, I took it off and stored it in the jewelry trays. "I have two diamonds now," I told the girls. "Each of you can have one now if you like when you marry."

Several months later, I found a plastic bag on the floor of my bedroom. I discerned at a glance that it was empty, and I threw it away.

Fast forward to last year when Fiona announced that she was engaged. "Would you like one of the diamonds for your ring?" I asked. "Or you can put it in a ring to give to Alona." I went to my jewelry box--but the plastic bag with the diamond in it was gone. I suddenly remembered that plastic bag I had so thoughtlessly thrown away. Surely I hadn't carelessly discarded the miraculously rediscovered diamond--had I? I had thought the bag was empty! I dug through the trash basket, despite knowing that I had already taken that batch of trash out, and I combed over and over through the carpet.

I felt sick. I felt, absurdly, that I had let Rob down, losing the diamond he had given me not just once but twice. Now only one of my girls would get a diamond from me. Fiona tried to comfort me: "The ring I’ve picked out already has a diamond, and Alona doesn't even want a stone. It's okay, Mommy. Let Delia have the remaining diamond." I tried to let it go, but it just added to all the grief I felt at losing Rob.

Now we come to the events of this week. The carpets in my house looked awful--the wall-to-wall carpet upstairs is over thirty years old. So I asked my sister if I could borrow her carpet cleaner.

I spent hours Wednesday shifting stuff from the corners of the rooms and thoroughly vacuuming everything, using the attachment to get into the weird angles and along the baseboard. Then I went over everything again with the carpet cleaner. The water, when I emptied it into the toilet, was black and filthy.

Altogether, I worked at it for over four hours. Finally, exhausted, I sat down on my bed and gave a deep sigh. And then I happened to glance down at the floor.

There, glinting in reflection from the overhead light, was the diamond. Right between my feet.

I thought it had washed down the drain. Then I thought I had thrown it away. By all rights, I should have swept it up with either the vacuum cleaner or the carpet cleaner. But somehow or other, here it was again, back in my trembling hand: the diamond that had been in the ring that Rob had put on my finger on our wedding day. The bag HAD fallen out of the jewelry tray, but somehow, the diamond had fallen out of the bag and then hidden itself in the carpet until I found it again. Maybe running the vacuum cleaner and carpet cleaner over it had merely polished it up so that I could see it again.

That diamond has more damned lives than a cat.

My wish for you this Thanksgiving is that you have the moments of transcendent joy that I have had this week.

Background: a beige carpet. Center top: a carpet cleaning machine. Underneath is the logo for the St. Paul Local 34 Plumber and Gasfitters Union. A woman's hand hovers over the words "Local 34," reaching for a brilliant-cut diamond superimposed over the bottom of the logo. Underneath the diamond is a woman's gold wedding ring, set with another diamond.

Euphoria



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I'm going to be a little bit cryptic about this one, because it involves something I'm not quite ready to talk about yet (note the Elinor Dashwood tag, which I use when I want to be reserved about something). But this collage is about a conversation I had this week with someone I really trust to give me solid life advice. What this trusted person told me is that it is time for me to make a specific life change. A big one. Huge. It will mean a lot of life upheaval. And while what she was advising to do is something that has crossed my mind for several years (since the pandemic started), I think that she made her case so well that I am seriously reassessing things. I think I am going to do it.

If I can.

The first card in the tarot deck is the Fool. The zero card. The Fool is usually depicted as a beggar or a vagabond, wearing ragged clothes & stockings. He is gazing upwards toward the sky (and the Universe) and is seemingly unaware that he is about to skip off a precipice into the unknown. Over his shoulder rests a modest knapsack containing everything he needs – which isn’t much (let’s say he’s a minimalist). The white rose in his left hand represents his purity and innocence. And at his feet is a small white dog, representing loyalty and protection, that encourages him to charge forward and learn the lessons he came to learn. The Fool represents new beginnings, having faith in the future, being inexperienced, not knowing what to expect, having beginner's luck, improvisation, and believing in the universe.

This is the Fool as depicted in the Rider–Waite deck:



I've sometimes told people that I'm a Gryffindor, but one with high-security needs. What I am thinking of doing, what I am actually going to start trying to do will definitely take courage. But--if I am lucky, if my faith in the future is justified--it might address some of those needs that have been unmet for so long.

The background of this collage is a card that my kind mentor gave me when we ended our session. Although you can't see it, I posed for the picture on my back stoop (where I fell and got my concussion last year). The stick on which I hung my sack is my karate bo. I used a picture of my daughter Delia's dog Violet for the dog at my heels.

(See this earlier post I made about The Fool).

Image description: Against a background of words of life advice, Peg stands in the pose of the Tarot Fool: looking at the sky, holding a stick with a sack of possessions in one hand and a stem of flowers in the other (didn’t have a white rose and so used a bunch of silk peonies). A dog capers at her feet.

Reassessment



Click here to see the 2023 52 Card Project gallery.

Click here to see the 2022 52 Card Project gallery.

Click here to see the 2021 52 Card Project gallery.