I fully intended to skip over the holiday completely and just talk about my week in running but there’ve been some rough days and I have this twisted need to spew it all.

First off, Thanksgiving week is the week my mother killed herself and this happens to be the 5-year anniversary.  It really fucks up the holidays, as you can imagine.  There are so many memories I could do without, like all of them.  Even the good ones are painful, but actually, because I have so much guilt at how our relationship evolved, I don’t even see the good ones. What I see are flashes of things that make me cringe, a strobe of unpleasantness.

I actually think of her as little as I can, which is really a shame because she had some amazing qualities but as her craziness became apparent (she wasn’t looney tunes, just paranoid schizo) I had a really hard time loving her.  I was angry from the first moment I witnessed her going “off” – I was probably around 20 and back home on vacation, we were in a grocery store and she was convinced someone was following her.

And while I never held back about her paranoid delusions – we talked freely about everything – she was no longer the same person to me and I struggled to be empathic.  Actually, I plain out failed.  If it was anyone else, I’d be understanding and kind but it was my mother and I couldn’t deal with it.

Now, I find myself adopting traits of hers.  The anti-social ones are worrisome (though I’m a party animal compared to her, so no major worries on that score) but even the innocuous things make me so sad because I wish to god I could apologize for having been so judgmental.  I just wanted her to be normal.

This week, I looked at all those great photos of feasts and togetherness on Facebook and I will tell you this straight up, I was not sad one bit for not having any of that.  But what does bother me and in a very deep way, is exactly that: the fact that I don’t want any of it, that I’d prefer to hide and be miserable alone than be among people, chitchatting and exchanging pleasantries.  I see my mother in me and I hate it.

Maybe I’m also having a delayed mid-life crisis.  I wish the simple things that make people happy would make me happy, too.  I love running and I love writing in this blog but that’s about it.  It’s like I’m waiting for something to happen only I’ve no clue what that could be.  Not to say I’m an unhappy person, I think I am a happy gal most of the time, but I guess this week being what it was, plus a little look in the mirror that reminded me I’m getting older…it’s a weird time.

Please, you sweeties, I’m posting this because it’s important to me to say, this blog is a chronicle, but here’s the deal: I don’t want to talk about it so please don’t send any emails or Facebook messages about this.  Also, Christmas is coming and I’m going to be spending it alone as well, but not in a depressed manner (no crappy memories for that holiday, I’m happy to say) so nobody feel inclined to invite me anywhere, it’ll just be awkward for me to say “thank you but no thank you”, which is what I’d do.

This is actually a relief to admit; now I don’t have to worry about hiding the fact later.  Funny how ashamed holidays can make a person.

Bottom line is I know I’m loved but for the most part, I’m glad to keep it at arms-length.  That’s weird and messed up and I hope it’s not always the case, but it is what it is.  Anyway, this was a strange post, huh?  I actually feel a lot better already.  Now the question is, will I press the Publish button?

Silly little blog.

My initial worry in taking a week off was my memory of getting the flu last Feb. and being off for 11 days. That one knocked me for a loop, took me probably an entire month to get back to fighting shape. But I realized recently that there’s gotta be a difference in taking off to be sick lung-wise, then injured limb-wise. I might be creaky when starting again, but it won’t be weeks of trying to recapture my old self.

Meanwhile, I’ve been keeping myself busy. Very good week for voiceovers, had a lot of jobs between last week and this, so…cha-ching!

Lastly, and probably most importantly, a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I finally, FINALLY, made my mother’s website and put it online yesterday. I’ve felt this job haunting me since January 2007, but couldn’t deal with actually sitting down and doing it. Thanks to the comment from Mr. Novie on the “Why I Started Running” page and subsequent emails with him, it was the exact kick in the pants I needed. The site requires a bit of editing and additional content (waiting for family input), but if any of you guys are interested, check out www.eleanorkarp.com.

On a non-running note, a very strange thing happened yesterday when, after returning from a fabulously fun chick Pot Luck last night, I drunkenly sat down at the computer to find this comment on my page “Why I Started Running”.

I knew my mom had worked for Frank Lloyd Wright in some capacity through Aaron Green’s office, but I was never exactly clear on the particulars, so Mr. Novie’s letter was truly a gift out of nowhere. And what a moving surprise to finally see a couple of the projects she worked on.

This is my mom giving a welcome speech at Cooper Union’s Ninetieth Anniversary Convocation, on November 2, 1949.

The men behind her are quite an esteemed crew. From left to right:
Edwin Burdell (director of Cooper Union), Frank Lloyd Wright, Great-grandson of Peter Cooper Hewitt-Green, Rene D’Harnoncourt (Director of Museum of Modern Art) and the napping guy is Francis Henry Taylor (Director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art).

And with that, I’ll put my figurative running hat back on and say I’m excited to meet up tonight with Lara, Matt and his lovely wife Marianne along with some forum folks I’ve never met as we stuff our soon-to-be racing bodies with pasta galore. Here’s to a fun dinner and a sincere hope that the chance of rain predicted for tomorrow morning is all show, no action.

A hermit, mom rarely left her apartment. Every 3 weeks or so she’d get groceries, or sometimes she’d go on a hunt for something odd to make a slide for her microscope (the acquiring of a sheep’s brain was the last big event), but she was generally always at home. So on Thanksgiving 2006, when neither me nor my brother could get ahold of her to wish her a happy holiday, we knew something was wrong.

The next day, cops entered the apartment and found her on the bed, where she’d stabbed herself in the stomach several times.

Me and Nick, my boyfriend at the time, hurried down to Arkansas where we met up with my brother and nephew to take care of her belongings and clean the apartment.  The awfulness was confined to a small area – anatomy was one of her interests; she knew what she was doing.

She left behind 90 panels of large paintings, 4ft. x 6ft., all done in oil on masonite (she painted on both sides of some) that she’d been working on for decades, stacked thick against the walls of her tiny apartment.

The paintings are incredible. I made a website for her with the intention of getting representation or gallery interest but I’ve since changed my mind.  I don’t have the energy or heart to think about something that large, I’d rather forget about it and the responsibility.  So aside from the pieces my brother and I have displayed in our homes, the rest will probably stay in storage forever.

Here is a 4-panel piece and my favorite of all her paintings, I always just called it “The Subway Painting”. The little girl and the woman sitting on the train are my mom and her mom. My grandfather’s in it, my brother and I are in it, even my father (whom mom divorced and never spoke to afterwards) is in it. This photo doesn’t do it justice, it’s pieced from 4 photos because the whole thing is 16 feet wide.

Closeup inside the train

After it happened, I began re-evaluating my life, looking for something to jump wholeheartedly into, something to keep my mind occupied and at the same time, clear my head.  So I bought a bunch of exercise DVDs and two months after that, for no reason I can fathom, a pair of running shoes.  That’s how it began.