Tag Archives: Memorial

In Memory of Jay Consolati, 1947-2020

2 Replies


Today I received a message from Jay’s sister inquiring about the location of his ashes. Instead of sending her pictures of the memorial we had to spread his ashes, I decided this would be an easier way for her to share them with the rest of his family and friends.

Sacrificial jarritas from Lake Chapala

As with many Mesoamerican cultures, the people of Chapala worshipped local deities. One was the goddess of the water, Michicihualli (“maiden of the fish”), a feminine spirit believed to control the lake and winds. Ritual baths at dawn in the lake were held in her honor, and older practices even included sacrificial blood offerings thrown into the lake in small jars like the ones pictured above to ensure good fishing and harvests. As the lake started to dry up, thousands of these jars were exposed and people have been collecting them for years. It was Jay’s idea that we ask those of us who had some of these jars in our possession to donate them and to have children write messages to the lake and put them in the jars, seal them with sealing wax, and take them out by boat to deposit them back in the lake.

This was such a beautiful gesture that I suggested we do the same with some of his ashes. We filled jarritas donated by many of his friends with his ashes and cast them out in the lake along with flowers. It was a lovely day as Lety and I and other friends put part of Jay back into the lake that he had loved enough to ensure that her former blessings had been returned to her.

It was today’s request by his sister Anne concerning the location of his ashes, that occasioned this post so long after Jay’s death. As I told her, I also buried some of his ashes under a very special tree in a sculpture garden I have constructed in the lot below my house. Under another tree, I buried a few of the ashes of his friend and housemate John Wester, who died a year or two before Jay did, then sent the rest of Jay’s ashes to his son.

R.I.P. Jay

You can see another tribute plus photos I took of the day on the lake HERE. And HERE is something I wrote for him.

R.I.P. Sarah, Sam and Sophia. XOXO

28 Replies

 

This is a heartbreakingly beautiful tribute to my cousin Max’s daughter, granddaughter and son-in-law who were killed in a multi-car accident in Arizona caused by the ice storm in Arizona this past week. R.I.P. Sarah and Sophia and Sam.  XOXOXO

https://na01.safelinks.protection.outlook.com/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.coloradoan.com%2Fstory%2Fnews%2F2025%2F03%2F20%2F3-coloradans-die-in-multi-vehicle-crash-in-arizona-during-spring-break%2F82571736007%2F&data=05%7C02%7C%7C226455df0a654fcc77a608dd68055201%7C84df9e7fe9f640afb435aaaaaaaaaaaa%7C1%7C0%7C638781094239734894%7CUnknown%7CTWFpbGZsb3d8eyJFbXB0eU1hcGkiOnRydWUsIlYiOiIwLjAuMDAwMCIsIlAiOiJXaW4zMiIsIkFOIjoiTWFpbCIsIldUIjoyfQ%3D%3D%7C0%7C%7C%7C&sdata=9yPHu673DUF2LcWsk1rH9SKDWkJ4M0AxUdIGkZdjtLc%3D&reserved=0

Seeing Off Joe

14 Replies

Click on photos to enlarge.

Seeing Off  Joe

The birds were in attendance:­­
the pelican, night heron and snowy egret,
as well as his friends—
some in the boat,
others gathered onshore
to watch him swell his being
under a falling sun
in the  beginning of his final journey to every shore.

Mexican by choice rather than birth,
he floated, strung out
in ribbons
behind the boat
as we returned him
to his chosen place,
strewing our friend
like flowers.
Spilling him home.
Reaffirming
that we’re never lost to a world we are a part of.

 

For Quadrille Monday: Strings  (I chose to write a poem composed of two quadrilles.)

Reliquary, for RDP, June 20, 2024

8 Replies

 

daily life color241
Reliquary

On Sunday morning under orange bougainvillea,
your picture spills from an old album.
You were on a verandah under purple bougainvillea,
drinking the hot noon from your coffee cup
as I drank passion fruit and watched Lake Tana birth the Nile.

Later, kneeling by the river, I made my hand into a cup,
but you called out that slow death swam the blood
of those who touched the river,
while behind you on harsh branches,
black birds barked stark music.

Now, on Sunday morning under orange bougainvillea,
half a world and half a life away,
I restore you to your proper place, remembering how,
when they laid you down to dream beneath the purple bougainvillea,
it was passion fruit’s sweet poison that flavored my life.

 

This is a poem from my book If I Were Water and You Were Air, to be published soon,
For RDP: Relic

A Lovely Memorial for Pull Up A Seat

5 Replies

 

Pull Up a Seat Challenge 39

Roof Dogs

18 Replies

For the fifteen or more years Frida lived with me, this is where she was most of the time, checking out the neighborhood and occasionally barking at someone who didn’t belong there.
Frida II is installed.
And Frida’s ashes went into this effigy which we concreted in place on her favorite place on the dome, to watch for as long as I have any say in the matter.
Keep a watch for us, girl .
And then, across the street on the corner of Ilie Nastase and Wm. Tilden, these puppy-sized sculptures appeared.
As new real puppies joined the family, I installed a gate to keep less experienced little feet off the dome, but inevitably, guests or Pasiano would leave the gate on the stairs up to the casita whose terrace adjoined the dome. This photo was taken by my neighbors before Annie joined us.
Neighbors snapped this photo, then called to advise me that Frida had visitors.
A year or so later, another member of the pack appeared right across from me on Wm. Tilden
Help Frida keep watch, boy!
(Frida as a puppy.)

It all started with Frida, who I first met as she trotted down the carretera traveling west as I walked with my friend Joe, going east.  She was so tiny that I thought she was a big rat at first, but as she drew nearer, I realized it was a tiny puppy who, when she got up to me, immediately stopped and looked up at me with those eyes that indicated that we already belonged to each other.  When she got older, for the next 15 years or so, she spent most of her days up on the dome of my house supervising the neighborhood, and when she passed away, it didn’t take long for me to figure out how she should be memorialized. It took me some months to find a terracotta sculpture that looked like her and to find men to concrete it securely in place.  Inside are Frida’s ashes.  There she has resided for years, surveying all who pass as she did during her life.

As new dogs arrived in my life, they took to occasionally visiting her on the roof, and then a strange thing happened.  In the house kitty-corner across from me, two smaller terracotta dogs appeared, on the post beside the entry gate, Frida directly in their line of vision a story above them on my dome.

Then, less that a year ago, the house directly across the street from me sold, and a few days ago, when Yolanda mentioned my neighbors putting dogs on their roof, I corrected her that they were on a pedestal by their front gate, but she said, no–on the roof–and directed me down the street to look back at the house of the new neighbors.  There, securely affixed to their chimney stack, almost obscured by the trees, was another Frida!

That is how “In the doghouse” came to be a non-derogatory term in my neighborhood. In fact, I am now just waiting for the next roof dog to show up!!

Bearcat

15 Replies

 

Bentley, Bearcat and Patti arrived at my house in the belly of their mother when I lived in Boulder Creek, CA in 1987.

Of the three kittens and mother cat who joined me shortly after I moved to our all-redwood house in the redwoods of California in 1987, only Bearcat was still alive when I moved to Mexico in 2001. Sadly, he drowned in my pool a few months later.  I was devastated.  This was his epitaph, written as a string of kennings for a NaPoWriMo prompt in 2014.

Bearcat
1987-2002
R.I.P.

back lofter
tail wafter
gray bearer
drape tearer
ball loser
lap chooser
bunny slayer
shoelace player
sofa climber
sleep mimer
shadow springer
dragonfly bringer
lizard de-tailer
spider nailer
basement searcher
window ledge percher
tree dweller
mouse smeller
dog chaser
bug caser
door crack peeper
sunbeam sleeper
woods walker
squirrel stalker
rail balancer
prey glancer
shadow catcher
love hatcher
body spinner
heart winner

 

 

for dVerse poet’s word-play prompt: Kenning
To read other word-play poems from those answering the same prompt, go HERE.

Memories of Gloria

6 Replies

Gloria Palazzo

Above is a link to the article just published today in the Ojo del Lago that I wrote about my friend Gloria who passed away in August. Earlier, I published photos of her HERE.

Rosehips

4 Replies

 

Prairie Rose

Prairie Rose, sister of mine,
here at a distance,
I imagine you in full bloom
before your long winter.

I gather the best parts of you close in memory,
taking care with your acicula, as I have my whole life,
wondering why you seemed to need those parts
that kept us from clutching you too closely.

I thank you for seeding the future of our line.
Your grandchildren, the harvest of your life,
playful as otters even in their twenties,
award your existence by theirs.

We bring you with love back to where you came from,
 scatter your fallen petals
on the prairie loam,
and shovel it over that you may join it.

In case you didn’t know it, as I didn’t, “acicula” are needlelike parts: thorns, spines, bristles, or needlelike crystals. The singular form is  “aciculum.”

The rose hips are where the rose seeds are contained. Not doing any deadheading of the old rose blooms will allow the rose hips to form, which can then be harvested either to use the seeds inside to grow a new rose bush. Rosehips may be eaten, taking care to avoid the hairs that line the inside of the fruit and often times cover the seeds. They are literally itching powder and uncomfortable enough when they come into contact with your skin, let alone ingesting them!

Word prompts today are otter, shovel, harvest, acicula and mine.

We Lay Our Friend to Rest

28 Replies

Our friend Jay died recently, as I noted in an earlier post HERE. Today we laid his ashes to rest in Lake Chapala.

The birds were in attendance,
the night heron and snowy egret,
coots and pelicans.

And his friends—
some in the boat, others
gathered on the shore
along with children—those reassurances
that life goes on.

We lifted a glass
and recalled the day he returned the sacrificial ollitas* to the lake,
the words of children sealed in their depths,
giving the lake back what was once hers,
and as if she listened, she swelled her skirts anew,
reclaiming those shores she had long abandoned.

He was Mexican by choice if not by birth,
and we returned him to her,
strewing him between flowers that floated in strings like ribbons
behind the boat.

The ollitas arcing, spilling him home.
His friend spreading the rest of him on the water’s surface
like a blessing and a reassurance
that we are never lost to the world we are a part of.

The birds, who know this, watched
as he was reborn to water, hyacinth and air.

Under a falling sun, we watched him swell his being,
the beginning of that journey to every shore
of this lake that he once gave back to and now
has given his all to.

Rest in peace, dear friend, lover, father, uncle, brother.
We share you with the world.

*Chapala was founded in 1538. The town may have taken its name from Chapalac, one of its earliest Indian chiefs. Or perhaps it came from the Nahuatl “Chapatla,” the “place where pots abound,” referring to the primitive local practice of appeasing the gods by throwing pots, spotted with blood from earlobes, into Lake Chapala. These little pots, called “ollitas” have washed up to the shores from the lake, especially during the years when the lake receded greatly. Years ago, Jay did a project where he had school children write messages which he rolled into tight cylinders, waterproofed and placed in ollitas that friends had found along the lake or purchased from locals. They then took them out in a boat and returned them to the lake. We took the remaining  ollitas that we found in his house along with others contributed by friends and thought it was a fitting tribute to fill them with Jay’s ashes and return both him and the ollitas to the lake, along with the words sent to us by his friends and family.

Click on photos to enlarge.

One more tribute HERE:   https://judydykstrabrown.com/2020/12/21/for-jay-april-23-1947-december-14-2020/