Fish Fry

Posted on by Thor

While family was waking up and chatting in the kitchen and living room in the Iowa home, the men went out to the garage, work area to gut some fish and start a fish fry. Rather than stay inside with the woman and children, I felt it my manly duty to head outside as well. The space is set up for maintaining vehicles and farm equipment complete with a lift. Deer skulls decorated the walls and horns protruded from the bare light bulb fixture. A crossbow was hug on the wall with care, but most hunting was done with guns. Behind the propane fryer was the huge walk in freezer where the season’s venison was stored.

Pam Schwartz came out to watch and talk while holding a sleeping nephew. This is where some of the better family conversations happened as the fish were gutted. I love this utilitarian space, with cabinets and counter space, a true man space. Pam hates fish,  but I tried some later and it was good. This is where I would want to be to polish up survivalist skills of hunting, fishing and preparing the meat.  As I live now, I don’t think I could survive without a source of Mountain Dew.

Magic Forest

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Driving into Lake George New York is like driving down International Drive in Orlando with cool crisp weather. Terry and I were visiting my younger sister Carol and her two daughters . We followed the GPS to Chestnut Street, but none of the four homes matched Carols house number. When I called Carol on the cell, she said she lived on Chestnut Road not street. Her directions brought us a few miles south of town. When we drove past the Magic Forest, I knew I would have to go back. This place is pure tourist kitsch, it had to be sketched. Uncle Sam’s face is peeling off and was haphazardly folded back into place. Paul Bunyan was back in the woods and Santa was also keeping vigil in the parking lot. Tourists who entered the lot would pour out of their cars and then snap photos before heading into the park.
The following day was Carol’s birthday. Terry and I treated her and her two daughters, Anna and Kirsten to dinner. Carol took half a day off and she walked us around downtown Lake George. This place is booming with tourists everywhere and little parking. There were several haunted houses and plenty of miniature golf courses. Just south of town there was a drive in theater which had a line of cars waiting to get in. The lake itself was gorgeous with a large paddle boat and several beaches. We had lunch at a restaurant overlooking the water. A guitarist was performing cover songs so loud it was impossible to carry on a conversation. The view across the lake made the location spectacular. A small beach right next to the building was crowded with tanning tourists. It would have been nice to stay longer so we could relax and swim, but our packed travel itinerary had us driving south early the next day.

The Wake

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As I sketched the Hessling Funeral home, groups of high school kids came running down the slanted uphill driveway. I was leaning back against a parking meter and twice I had to sit up so people could shove coins in the slot. A pickup truck pulled into the parking lot and the man pulled out a lawn mower and started mowing the lawn.
The wake was an eternally long period of sitting and waiting from 2 to 4 and then 7 to 9 PM. Ruth’s body was lying in a solid and sturdy looking casket. A small table toward the foot of the casket has a picture of a neatly trimmed Christ. My sister Carol found a statue of Betty Boop with a bright red boa to put at the table at the head of the casket. Ruth was a fan of Betty Boop and had a collection of them. At breakfast in her home I put in a Betty Boop animated short and watched her sinuous cycled animation.
My sister Carol had been put in charge of making sure I did not do a drawing of Ruth in her casket. She said, “I know you love drawing, but… no drawing the coffin, I’d think you’d freak everybody out.” Juanita and Gail also also kept a close eye on me. I knew Ruth would not want me to do such a drawing but being told it was forbidden made it tempting. Had I tried, I would have been kicked out of my own mothers funeral. Gail told me that if I sketched mom she would haunt me for eternity. Ruth was always concerned that she only be photographed or drawn when she looked her best. The mortician had done a good job of removing any hint of wrinkles and pain from moms face. She wore one of the leis and two others were dangling from the edges of the casket lid. Large red Victorian floor lamps lit the front of the room with a warm red glow. There were large flower arrangements from the children and grand children and people in town.
I once did a drawing of my father, Art, when he had Leukemia. Ruth found the drawing and ripped it out of my sketchbook and destroyed it. I later did more drawings of my father but all of them were from memory, done in the waiting room.
Honesdale Pennsylvania is a small town and everyone knows each other. Gail and Juanita live in Honesdale and friends and co-workers kept coming in and hugging them and offering condolences. I sat lined up against the wall with the rest of the 6 Thorspecken children and we spoke amongst ourselves never being embraced by the people from town. I realized it is hard to cry without touch. My family sat around and joked and told stories to pass the time. I couldn’t take all the banter. It was all just so much noise. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts.
I finally went to a back parlor of the funeral home and started sketching. I made sure to place a relative strategically to block any view of the casket. Old photos of Ruth were on display and a digital frame displayed photos of her grandchildren. Kyle and Jack, two of my nephews, watched my every move as I did the sketch. Kyle is a budding artist himself, and I was proud when he showed up to the second half of the wake with his own sketchbook tucked under his arm. My brother in law Walter kept borrowing my sketchbook to show to his friends. I met the owner of a downtown gallery and she was one person who held my hand for the longest time when she greeted me. I found myself talking excitedly about art for a while before, out of the corner of my eye, I again caught the image of mom lying in the front of the room alone and ignored. I did stand in front of the casket for a long time memorizing her features and the gentle turn of her thin wrists with her fingers folded calmly on her belly. This lifeless image is however not one I want to hold onto and I will never commit it to paper.

Adventures in Baby Sitting

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I kept my first visit with Ruth short since I knew my sister, Carol, was waiting downstairs to come up. When I found myself alone with her two very energetic kids, ten and eight years old, I asked them if they would pose for a portrait. They agreed and then fought each other as they climbed into the same chair. They posed for maybe five minutes. Anna tried to keep a wide-mouthed smile on her face the whole time. She soon lost patience and decided she wanted to paint as well. I let her use my palette and one of my brushes and soon all three of us were busy painting. I continued to work on my painting as they worked. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of their eyes or the gentle curl of their hair and I would add it. Kristen did a silly drawing of me with an oval head and a big hooked nose.

Perhaps an hour later, Carol came back down thinking I would be at my wits’ end. Anna said, “Don’t worry mom, we are having fun. Why don’t you go back up?” Babysitting my nieces turned out to be quite fun, perhaps parenting isn’t the distracting challenge I always thought it would be.
The next day I watched my nieces at my stepmom’s place while Carol drove to the hospital to visit mom a second time. Once again, they took to painting like fish to water. I sketched Anna as she worked on a painting of Reeses, the family dog. She also did a painting of me, and from her sketch, I am one scary looking uncle.

We later decided to go for a hike around the small frozen lake my stepmom’s house is next to. I devised a way to keep Kristen’s sneakers from getting wet using grocery bags and two bungee cords from the back of my truck. The bungee chords acted as suspenders for the bags. I think she got a kick out of wearing them. The kids ran the whole time through the three inches of snow. Anna kept falling every time she ran. I kept warning her to slow down, but she just kept falling. I finally gave up telling her, since she never seemed to get hurt, and just got back up and started running again. Anna then did the one thing Carol had warned me not to let her so, she ran out onto the frozen lake. My heart stopped. I had no idea how thick the ice was, and it was warm out, with small puddles of slush all around her. I screamed for her to stop and walk right back the way she had gone out. I couldn’t go out after her since we might both crash through. She just giggled willfully, but then I told her we would have to all go back in the house if she didn’t get off the ice. I also told her that if the ice broke, I might not be able to get her out before she froze to death. She finally came back to the shore.

I decided we could continue the hike, but when we came to a small frozen stream that fed the lake, Anna once again stomped out onto the ice. Just as I caught up to her, and started to demand that she get off, her foot crashed through and her leg got wet up to her mid-calf. I think this lesson might stay with her. This time we all went straight back to the house, where I had Anna change out of her wet pants and we placed them near a radiator to dry off. Our walk ended with a rousing snowball fight. I don’t think I won since it was always two against one. I also think I will leave parenting to parents.

Visiting Ruth

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When I arrived in Honesdale. Pennsylvania, my younger sister, Carol, texted me directions until I arrived at my mother’s home. Carol and her two children, Kristin and Anna, had been waiting all day for my arrival. They all had cabin fever. Since it took me much longer than expected to get up north, we all immediately piled into Carol’s SUV and headed to the Honesdale Hospital where Ruth was in the intensive care recovery ward. I went up first while Carol watched her kids in the waiting area downstairs.
Ruth was surprised to see me, and I was shocked to see how frail she looked. Her spirits were down, so we weren’t demonstratively affectionate. We spoke for some time about her health and then I told her about life in Orlando. She has never seen my blog. She has never even owned a computer. Her health had deteriorated since the last time I saw her several years ago. Her breast cancer had spread and she had undergone intensive chemo therapy to try and stop the spread of the disease. Most family members feel that the chemotherapy was the cause of so many of her new symptoms. Ruth’s Oncologist, Dr. Scholi, seemed to feel that Ruth was something of a miracle in that she should have died three years ago, but she responded so well to the chemotherapy at the time that she got three more years of quality living. The doctor said, “Her present condition is the result of the combination of her cancer, her age, and the chemotherapy. It’s all caught up to her and has taken a pretty heavy toll.” On the afternoon of my second visit, a doctor came in and told my stepmom that she was being discharged from the hospital. Her next stop would be Ellen Memorial Health Care Center.

Physical Therapy

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When I got an e-mail from my sister, Juanita, saying that my stepmothers cancer had gotten to the point where she could no longer walk, I immediately decided I would have to take a trip to Honesdale, Pennsylvania to see for myself how Ruth was doing. I jumped in my truck and started driving north. I thought I could do the drive in one day, but with construction and traffic, it took me two days. The drive itself was an emotional roller coaster. When I first started driving over rolling hills, I felt exhilaration. One song played on the radio again and again, “Against the Wind.” This song ran through my head many years ago when I rode a bicycle across the country. Then, I felt like the wind was always literally blowing against me as I struggled to climb rolling mountains. Now, I was older, once again wandering the open roads of a cold indifferent world. Snow started to appear on the roadside.
The first day’s drive brought me as far north as Virginia. Exhausted, I spent the night at a Holiday Inn. When I resumed the drive the next morning, I was driving past vast fields blanketed in snow. At times, I felt small. At other times, expansive and elated. The radio played, “I say miracles just happen, silent prayers get answered.” I felt hope and peace for once, surrendering and accepting what I was driving to face. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of dark tree trunks rising up out of the pure white snow. The radio blared, “Live like we’re dying!” I vowed not to waste a minute of the time I spent in Honesdale Pennsylvania. I would be visiting family I hadn’t seen in years. I had been out of touch with my stepmom for years. I planned to change that.
My little sister, Carol, guided me the final miles with a series of text messages. As soon as I arrived, at my step mothers house, we headed down to the hospital to see Ruth. Carol had her two daughters, Kristin and Anna, and hospital rules forbid them to go upstairs. I agreed to watch my nieces while Carol visited and then we traded off. I found Ruth in the physical therapy room. A young tan nurse’s aid had Ruth lift a two pound weight over her head for three repetitions of twelve. My stepmom has always been resistant to the idea of being sketched, so I started just drawing all the other patients working out. Some would squeeze medicine balls between their legs, while others would pedal a stationary bike set up for wheelchair patients. My stepmom did good with all her arm exercises, but when she was asked to stand, she collapsed. Chemotherapy had sapped all her energy. She was tired of being treated like a child and when we got back to her room, I joked with her about the experience in the cynical way that she was used to. It was good to see her laugh.