Monday, February 23, 2009

Two years tomorrow

Tomorrow will mark two years since we lost Dad.  

Time has a way of fooling me anymore.  I feel like we've been without him -- without both of them -- for so long, and I feel like he just walked out the door a few minutes ago.  It's strange, really.  

Two years ago it was so cold; there was ice on his bedroom windows, the wind rattling them and blowing the curtains.  We all spent hours and days with him there in his room, doing the best we could.  I've always hoped it was good enough.

I think this is how Dad lived his life:  doing the best he could, hoping it was good enough.  He knew where he fell short (something not everyone can say) but rarely apologized for it, a product of his generation.  He worked hard and did not part easily with his money but was generous with the people he loved.  And you knew you were loved, although those words rarely came from him.  He was heartbroken when Mom died, never ever the same.  I honestly believe that's what killed him, not the cancer.

At the end of the day, I think Dad just wanted to make sure his family was OK.  Well Dad, we're OK.  Your three kids, who on the face of things may not seem to be all that much alike, have closed ranks.  We're still in it together, still bickering, still watching out for each other, still meeting for birthdays and Sunday dinners and Christmas.  It's not the same, but it's good.  Better than most.

Thanks for that, Dad, and for all the rest that we never realized mattered until it was gone.  We miss you.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Late night conversation (when late is eight)

When you're three, five must seem like an awful lot.  It's nearly twice your age and manages to use up all your fingers.  It's a lot.  Just ask Sara.

Last night as I was laying with her before she fell asleep, Sara asked me who my best friend was.  Then she said -- "I know, Papa and me."  Who could argue?  She seemed very impressed that I have two best friends.  Not content to stop there, she quickly said "Oh wait, Grandma and Grampa are your best friends, too.  You have FOUR best friends!" and proudly showed me her four fingers.  By now I could see where this was going, so I waited to see who lucky number five would be.  Nana?  My sister?  Pete, our cat?

"Oh Mama!  Jesus is your other best friend.  You have FIVE best friends!  Wow that is a lot!"

This girl.  So smart.  She kills me.

Friday, February 13, 2009

First flowers

This moring I saw snow drops out in the courtyard at work.

Just a week or so ago it was as cold as I can remember it being and we had enough snow on the ground for sledding, snowmen, and snow forts. Now I'm itching for spring and keeping my eyes wide for more spring bulbs to poke through.

A good metaphor to keep in mind these days. Perhaps I should start looking for more spring bulbs in my workplace as well. Or maybe, somewhere else.

We'll see.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

bad decisions bite

or should i say, they bite you in the ass.

work today was really pretty awful, and this on the heels of a lousy couple of weeks.  taking my current job was a bad decision on a lot of different fronts.  bad for me, bad for rob, bad for my work relationships, bad for my health...  bad.  i've learned a lesson in all of this (i suppose that could be considered "good"), but now i'm ready to move on.  unfortunately life dictates that, at least for now, i can't.

it would be nice to know that i'll never make another bad decision -- but let's face it.  life doesn't play out that way.  perhaps it's reasonable to hope that i won't make another bad decision with such far-reaching collateral damage?  maybe?  maybe?

yep.  those best-laid plans of mine, they're biting me right in the ass.  [ouch]

i prayed tonight that if there was another path -- one that was good for me, good for rob, good for my health -- i would recognize it and not be afraid to take it, no matter how outrageous it may seem.  that would be a leap for me.  of course i had better not repeat the mistakes i made last time around because, then?

another bad decision.  and my butt is still smarting from the last one, thank you very much.

i'm off now to stew about the day and wrestle with my anger.  should be a delightful evening.  so looking forward to tomorrow.


Tuesday, February 10, 2009


I want to blog. I have two posts sitting in the queue, waiting to be written. For whatever reason, I find myself unable to get them out.

So, I'm posting this instead. A reminder that I am here. I have not yet been swallowed up by my job (though the corporation seems more and more determined to do so), or crushed by impatience (though this home-renovation project is testing my limits) or done in by responsibilities (though bills and estates and dinner and preschool conferences do tend to consume inordinate amounts of thought, if not time).

I am here. I still want to grow gardens and learn how to sew, to put up food for my family and craft in my attic, to stay home with Sara and learn how to play again. I want to become healthier and keep my family healthy. I want to opt in to voluntary simplicity and repurpose everything under our roof. I want to be organized enough to remember to send birthday cards and thank you notes. I want to give back to everyone who has given to me, then just keep on giving. I want to enjoy some quiet.

It all seems very far away.

I'm still here. If you can't hear me, come find me -- OK?