This is the sort of thing that makes Merlin Mann my hero.

I’ve been missing in action here for quite some time. Started because I had a whole lot of deadlines and things, and because I’m committing myself more and more to the making of things instead of the writing about things.

But then in June, my mom died and I’ve been reeling since then. I’ve mentioned my dad here before so you know that I’m now parent-free, which is my smart-ass way of saying orphaned.

A lot of people were touched by the eulogy I did for my dad and it helped me a lot, so in the interest of connecting, I thought I’d post my mom’s eulogy. Very different relationships, but the grief is just as painful.

Not sure when or how often I’ll be updating here. I want to give myself the time I need to be quiet and adjust. I’m sure you understand.

xo,
Moxie

Kerin Lieberman
1944 – 2009
Eulogy written by her daughter Moxie (Melysa Lieberman)
Read at Kol Shalom Cemetery, San Rafael, California on June 12, 2009

Almost three years ago, we gathered here to honor and bury our dad, Gene Lieberman. You may remember that I wrote a eulogy for him at the request of my family… I’m not gonna lie to you… nailed it. No seriously… I did, I totally killed.

Less than a year later, we learned that our mom was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer but I was convinced then, like most of us, that this day wouldn’t come for many, many years.

I think part of the reason we are all so surprised to be here now is because of my mother’s strength and determination. Her cancer was stunted by the treatments from the very start, but I like to think she frightened it away with one of her stern looks.

Kerin Erica Lieberman was a self-made, smart, classy, funny, beautiful, woman. It doesn’t matter if you laughed with her, fought with her, worked with her, lived with her, waited on her, loved her, flirted with her or just plain feared her… no one who met her was likely to forget her.

Our mom was a hard-worker, a devoted friend and she lived with a fierce sense of right and wrong. Her life was built on structure, order, and a logic all her own… if she were here, she would probably call it common sense. If she thought you were off track, she was certainly generous with her feedback.

It may surprise you to know that she was also terrified. Terrified you might not like her. Terrified of suffering. Terrified of losing the ones she loved. Terrified of not being in control. Terrified that she wasn’t perfect but, more so, terrified that you might discover that she wasn’t perfect. I wish that she had been with us long enough to realize that we already knew, and we loved her anyway.

As different as we were, me having rejected the very concept of perfection while still in the womb, we did share a sense of humor and enjoyed exchanging one-liners and wry observations, delighting in each other’s ability to think fast and funny. My sister and I enjoyed making her laugh and value the quick-wittedness we no doubt inherited from her.

I also loved the moments when she was able to laugh at herself. I remember as a kid, watching one of the Muppet Movies on tv with her. Miss Piggy is assisting back stage at a fashion show when one of the runway models falls and hurts an ankle. Quickly they rush to Miss Piggy and urge her to take the stage in the model’s place. This is followed by an impressive large scale, Busby Berkley water spectacle, with Miss Piggy center stage. We watched this in silence for a while when my mom, lost in thought, says mostly to herself “Pffft… yeah… like they’d really have a bathing suit in her size…”

I turned slowly to her and said “Mom… you know that’s a PUPPET, right?”

She looked at me for a minute and then we both dissolved into laughter.

But I can’t walk away from this place, where our mother will soon be buried next to our dad, without expressing my appreciation and awe at her ability to create community. Her cohorts, Fern, Lois, Sandy, Anne, Jackie, Tobi, Lynn, and Mo, whom Rachel and I often refer to as “the ladies” are the finest women I know. Her connection with them serves as an example of what true friendship looks like. The nurturing connection she built with her god-children Shira and Talia, women that Rachel and I consider our sisters, serves as an example of what compassion and genuine affection looks like. All of you, standing here in honor of Kerin Lieberman, our mom, serve as an example of what a true community looks like.

In the end, the connection she built with all of you is the most amazing legacy she could leave for her children. We’ll walk away from this place, mourning deeply this epic woman, into dozens of loving arms that would not be here if not for her.

did you know that sesame street debuted on my birthday, the year before i was born? that show was a big deal for my family. i have audio tapes of my dad coaching me to repeat things into the mic. he prompts:

“say ‘hi grandma.’ now say ‘i love you.’ don’t forget to say hi to grandpa. tell him to ‘send us cash.’ now what do you want to say to mr. hooper?”

my dad died two years ago today and i have to say, i don’t like it. i still feel like a part of my physical being has been severed and the empty space hurts really bad.

the worst part is the unsettling continuing shock. when it first happened, i was horrified of course, but there’s all of the in-the-moment stuff that you have to go through – travel, funeral, headstone… somehow, when all the tradition and ceremony ends, you know you’ve been through a hard time and there’s a finished feeling.

it was really then that the enormity of “forever” started to bitch slap me around, and it hasn’t stopped since. it’s funny to me that somewhere inside, i forgot that the funeral was only the end of the beginning of the loss of him. i still find myself thinking “wait… wait a second… you mean, NEVER?” and it aches deeper than anything i’ve ever felt.

mr. hooper died too, back in the day. here’s the clip of the cast explaining the permanence of death to big bird. it makes me sob, but it helps too. (btw, it starts with hilariously dated political chit chat between the adults.)

we both believed in “because” and finality, but he was a whimsical, imaginative guy. i used to archive some of the best emails i got from him. his death was a surprise, but coincidentally, this is the last email from him that i saved:

Considering where this nutty world is going, I have decided to come back in my next life as a Monarch butterfly, providing I can keep coming back each birth cycle. I will look beautiful. I will be able to travel. I love to fly and I will have many many good friends…we all will look the same so no one in our group will pick on us; what could be bad? Ok, I know I can get eaten by a big ass big bird etc or get caught by a stupid ass kid and put in a jar…

anyway, i miss him. thanks for listening.

when the movie independence day came out, i read a great review by mick lasalle, containing this point:

These early scenes capitalize on the dark human tendency to enjoy watching people get bad news. The kicks keep coming: The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (Robert Loggia) is told that the object heading toward Earth can’t be a meteor because it’s slowing down (“It’s slowing down?”)

he’s so right! the only thing more common to film (and tv) than watching people get bad news is watching people get bad news from afar. for instance the action of the bad news revelation happens on the other side of a window, or across a noisy room. we know what they are being told, and it is not good news, but they are far away from us and for some reason, it feels more perverted that way.

i’ve been fairly obsessed with this idea since i first saw the lame quasi-lifetime movie “just between friends.” thanks to hulu, i can show you the clip!

first we get to see christine lahti find out that ted danson is dead. then we get to see about 400 hours of full frontal aerobics by mary tyler moore, who is married to the now-dead danson, she just doesn’t know it until… let’s watch, shall we?

i know i’ve seen this done dozens of times since then. i’d love to put a montage of these scenes together. for fun. sort of like this genius tv carnage “gun and badge” montage:

anyway, let me hear from you if you have good examples of this, or if you know about any established term or convention for this technique.

p.s. independence day is so much better with rifftrax!

while quoting a fantastic post by jack shedd about professional blogging and the stupidity that often lives there, merlin mann made some comments that i think are smart and important.

If you do not agree with Jack’s or my opinion on building your audience — or if you think this is an unrealistically conservative tactic for simps and losers — consider this: I learned about Big Contrarian from reading a blogger I trust and respect: John Gruber. Today, the chances are good that at least a few of you might visit Jack’s site for the first time because you learned about it from someone you (theoretically) trust and respect: me. If you like Jack’s stuff as much as Chairman Gruber and I do, I’ll bet you’ll tell others about it through your own sites or through emails, IRL conversations, and what have you. And the music goes round. Organically.

Jack didn’t beg a link, he didn’t pretend to be 50,000 peoples’ “friend,” and he didn’t concoct a bunch of tricks, games, and page-padding bullshit in an attempt to increase views and time-on-site. Jack didn’t do anything except write a great blog. It’s up to his readers to do the rest. If what you’re doing is interesting and appeals to someone, that’s all you need. Seriously.

now, if you take the concept jack and merlin discuss, and switch the topic from “pro blogging” to “pro crafting,” it stays just as true. desperation doesn’t work. you have to start by playing, by exploring mediums and finding your own style. you have to get excited about what you make, and it doesn’t hurt to share what you learn along the way. it’s the difference between discovering that you love getting your hands sticky, the smell of mod podge and the joy of turning materials into something unexpected, or waking up one morning, rubbing your hands together and saying “yee-haw! i’m gonna get me some o’ that craft money!!”

i’m not saying that promotion isn’t part of a functioning business. being a working artist isn’t easy, and most people can’t manage to do it full time. we all need to pay rent and eat and survive. but when you are excessively pushy, get ugly or competitive, trick or force attention, try to sell sell sell in the wrong environments, etc., you cross the line between tenacity and white-knuckled grabbiness. the latter is less creative, less spontaneous. customers and colleagues alike can smell it on you. and it smells not good.

it’s ok to have needs and want business, but if you’re not centered around something you really care about, it’s easy to find yourself relentlessly grasping at thin air.

Eugene Lieberman
1934 – 2006

Eulogy written by his daughter Moxie (Melysa Lieberman)

Read at Kol Shalom Cemetery, San Rafael, California on August 23, 2006.

First, to clear up any confusion about my name: I was born “Melysa”, but several years ago I legally changed my name to “Moxie”. For the first few months after I made the change, my dad called me “Melvin – or – whatever – your – name – is – now.”

The thing about Eugene is that if you knew him, you KNEW him. Which makes it hard to say things about him that hasn’t been said by all of you already. But I’m standing here to speak for my family. My family, which feels like it’s shrinking with every passing minute but is also so much larger than we ever knew.
Eugene was a deeply silly human being. Recently at work I found a note on my desk from one of my staff. There was a voice mail from “Some guy trying to enroll his dog in childcare.” My dad had left an endless message, in a Yiddish accent, inquiring about our activities and expressing his fear that the other kids would make fun of his exceptionally hairy son, Murray.

That was one month ago and I can’t believe I’m here, now, like this. There is so much left undone. He wanted me to email him a phone number, I had a few cd’s I was going to make for him. He told me last week that he had clipped an article in the IJ he was going to send me, and for that matter, he owed me money.

My mom has been telling people that my father was a man who never complained. That is a lie and she knows it. If you think that Eugene never complained, you never heard him screaming and swearing at his computer, his fax machine, his remote control. He was attracted to technology. He believed in and utilized the internet as another way to connect with people. Having said that, he also had to call me after power outages because he couldn’t turn the tv back on.

Eugene really was a teacher. He had patience and understanding and could teach absolutely anyone to swing a baseball bat . . . but . . . could teach absolutely no one to do math homework. You can ask Rachel if you want, but I wouldn’t advise it…the math scars run pretty deep.

Here’s a dad lesson, though: I remember him driving me to the bus stop for my first sleep-over camp. I was so nervous about making friends. He told me that making friends takes time but that people were going to get to know me. I was quiet for a while and right before we got to the stop I wondered out loud: “What if no one starts to talk with me?” My dad took a swift left and pulled into a supermarket parking lot. Before I knew what was happening, I had in my lap an enormous bag of cookies. I’m talking about a bag of cookies bigger than my rolled-up sleeping bag. We giggled the rest of the way to the bus. The lesson? Cookies begin friendships.

Greater than the power of the cookie lesson was the importance of seychel: common sense with people. Eugene believed in being there when you are needed but before you are asked. He taught us to seek out opportunities to lend support, to offer comfort, to embrace people. Both of my parents are devoted, compassionate people and they taught us that taking care of others is simply “what you DO.” And he did it. And so do we. And you are here, you are doing it too.

He gave us so much and he left us all too soon. I know that we come together to celebrate and honor him, and he will always be a part of us. But I can’t walk away without telling you the whole truth. I can’t walk away, from this place, without saying that his absence has created in me a rupture I can only liken to a volcano, or an earthquake, or an explosion. A potent, trembling tsuris. It’s a chaotic void so volatile and powerful and devastating that it threatens to escape from my flesh and bones with an eruption so big, so painful that it will knock down walls and silence city streets and stop the earth from spinning and destroy the sun. I will never be the same. We will never be the same.

When I was young, I asked my dad why he was bald. He told me that he gave his hair to this other man, a man who needed the hair more. We laughed when he said it but it’s important to me to say this now, to his family, his friends, his communities: He told me that he gave his hair to a man that needed it more and I believe him. I will always believe him.

i happened to glance at this piece of junk mail on my mother’s coffee table while we were in california. on the surface it seems fine; just another happy kid photo for a local market and their upcoming event.

but, wait… what the… oh noes!

upper left corner = some poor kid in a baseball hat getting a “talking-to!!” i can totally hear her voice in my head, too.

she’s all “no, look at me dylan. do you think it’s funny what you did? do you?”

and he’s all “no…”

and she stoops down to his level and says “i don’t think you understand why this isn’t funny.”

and poor little dylan, or tyler, or zach, is trying as hard as he can to think of the right answer that will get her out of his face.

wish i could time-warp over there to tell him that there’s no right answer and i do guarantee you that whatever he did was TOTALLY funny. i also wish i could know if she ever saw this. i hope he did… and that he has a scrapbook.

even your precious lord isn’t safe from crappy swag marketing.

since this is now, i guess, NOT blasphemy or insidious to the god lovers, how ’bout:

god’s love is like this case of scotch

or

god’s love is like this toilet duck

or

god’s love is like this deluxe bucket of chum

feel free to join me in the comments section, won’t you?

oh how i love me that jessica hagy! she’s creative, hilarious, scientific and she has a twisted beautiful take on the world in which we live.

you can buy a collection of her diagrams in book form, but you also have to do some rss action so you don’t miss anything. clicky.

clip from the story:

Then came the pushback from the postmasters, who told Pearson and other lawmakers that “standard” mail, the post office’s name for junk mail, has become the lifeblood of the U.S. Postal Service and that jobs depend on it.

this is both a metaphor for why capitalism is broken AND proof that capitalism is breaking…now. clicky.