Saying Good Bye from Afar

It’s odd to me that I sit here writing about the death of my grandmother, Frances Carr. Or Fran as I called her well more than half of my life. You see my grandfather had that bad habit of finding things I said or did as funny, and with the absence of a poker face, when I called my grandmother “Fran” once as a joke, it stuck. And for as long as I’ve endearingly called my grandmother “Fran”, she’s been prepping me for this day. In all honesty, probably even longer.

Growing up we lived with my grandparents twice. Once when our home was being built when I was in the fourth grade, and once when we were in between homes when I was a teenager. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents growing up. When she would fold towels she would call me in the room to teach me how to do so properly. If I protested even a little; “when I’m dead you’ll say my grandmother taught me the right way to do things!” Like so many women of the Greatest Generation, she stayed home to take care of her family, but that didn’t mean she lacked intelligence. When it came to numbers, and how to financially run a household, do your taxes, Fran was the one to go to. I can’t tell you how many times she tried to teach me how to budget, bought me a notebook for such a scenario, and until I was married, she handled my taxes. It was futile to explain to her that my brain sees numbers as a foreign language, she didn’t want to hear it-I could do it. (One of the few things she was wrong about in life-I still see numbers and have mild meltdowns!) 

She would frequently “inventory”, for lack of a better word the items in her house, “don’t put this in a yard sale” or “I bought this when your Grandfather came home from the war” and of course her jewelry; “This goes to Lenore, this one to Melanie, this one to you.” And God forbid if I tried to get out of this morbid conversation. She would tell me I need to know.

When she was diagnosed with breast cancer over twenty years ago, she didn’t want me to know when she was having surgery as I had a trip planned to NYC. She wanted me to carry on with what I had planned. After her mastectomy she got the biggest kick out of reminding us that she had “a boob” which is what she called the prosthesis she would use.

When I moved out of the house, she and my grandfather sent supplies on an almost weekly basis. When my car was broken and I had moved home and had classes to get to, they would drive me to class-both campuses were across the state from one another, but they didn't care.

When my son was born and I found myself recovering from a C-Section, it was Fran who came over every day to make sure I ate, could get up and down the stairs, and to offer company because it was apparent I was in way over my head as a new mom!

As a college graduate, even though I was in my thirties and not a traditional student, Fran attended the very long ceremony to witness me cross that stage. She couldn’t wait for me to find a job as a teacher.  And this morning, when I opened Facebook, it was of course the first post that jumped out at me as a featured memory on "see your memories."

Fran has been with me for all the milestones of my life, and even the days that on the surface didn’t appear to have anything special attached to them. Those "regular" days of course had the love and admiration of my grandmother attached to them.  

Today, I won’t be there today to help say ‘goodbye’ to her. I’m trying to ensure this isn’t something I dwell on as I’ll always regret as this isn’t my choice.  As I have missed many milestones these last few years due to matters outside of my control, I'm going to do my best to not dwell on that recent past, but rather the memories I was able to have until that time.  I’ll spend the day doing what I know she would tell me to do; I’ll teach my classes, I’ll carry on. At the time of her service this morning, I’ll say a prayer.  I'll remember the good times, I have a lifetime of those to choose from.

Pay The Artists

I wrote this over the summer.  Sitting at home and seeing the one way we're connecting during this time of social distancing is through art; be it movies, shows, free concerts on YouTube, or quick jokes from comedians, I couldn't help but want to revisit it. 

Recently I came across something that made my blood boil. No, nothing to do with politics nothing to do about the state of education, but it did have to do art. It was a picture of a couple  holding art they bought from a local fair. But wait a minute Shannon, supporting local artists is a good thing!  The caption for this tone deaf photograph was along the lines of “ Us: We need to save money.  Also us: So glad we got this down $50 from the asking price!”

If you want to see me go zero to sixty in 3.2 seconds it’s watching the flagrant display of economic privilege online.  (And before you roll your eyes and say I can’t say that because I don't know them, this particular couple has not been shy in other posts about what they do for a living, and one half of that couple has a public salary, I can throw around the P word when it comes to their wallet.)  This post got me, and here’s why.  Apparently it’s okay for this person to talk down someone’s self-worth.  Because that’s what an asking price for a piece of art is.  An artist of any medium, whether it be theater or painting, writing or music.  The prices assigned to art by an artist helps them to create again. 

Look, I am all about a bargain. I shop at Target, hit up Dollar Tree like it’s a hobby for classroom supplies, and my neck cranes when I drive by a yard sale. And I love looking at original art. It never crossed my mind to merge my bargain lot inside with the side of me that loves art.  

When you are looking at a piece of art you do not see the un- billable hours it took to create.  You do not see the student loan debt, the trips to the local supply store to buy supplies, the check the artist has to hand in order to sell their art at most fairs. You do not see that they spend their hours upon hours hoping someone appreciates the work enough to buy it and again there is no hourly wage for sitting out in the sun trying to sell your art.

Now I am sure people will argue that I do not see how badly that couple wanted to painting. I do not see their bills. (I also didn't see the name of the artist because they didn't even have the decency to share the artist's name.)  And yeah that’s true. I don’t see those things. I did see a self-proclaimed power couple holding a painting someone lovingly made. I did see the privilege they had over that artist. The privilege that maybe many people feel they have over an artist; that they are entitled to pay what they feel is an all right asking price for art they did not create. Let me say this loud enough for the people in the back; Art you do not create is not your right to bargain as if you’re sitting in someone’s driveway haggling over the price of a 20 year old tennis racket. Now of course it is our right as Americans to be able to express ourselves with art. It is our right as Americans to be able to attend art. To appreciate art. But that right does not extend itself over the creation of someone’s art itself. It is not our right to own art you did not create. I've never seen someone haggle the sales associate at Dick's over a Marchand jersey, or employees at Panera over their pick-two lunch.  So why is it okay to do this to an artist?  For a society that claims to support small businesses, why don't we extend that same courtesy to our local artists?  Our painters, sculptors, actors, musicians.  How many times have you as an artist been asked to give something for free "for the exposure?" It is a privilege when an artist shares their art with the world. It is an honor.  So when you are out this year at the Providence flea or any other of the pop-up shops don’t be a doofus. There is so much that goes into creating a piece of art. And if you think it is overpriced maybe you don’t value it as much as you think you can. If you think it is overpriced and you can do a better job then pick up a paintbrush. Put your money where your mouth is.

And for God's sake please credit the artist on social media.