A Splash of Color

Life can just seem to go on sometimes, plodding and uneventful. Sometimes though, something will happen. Sometimes those things are joyful, exuberant events and sometimes they are just the opposite. The effects of these events is what makes life interesting, vibrant, something to greet each new day. The big events: a new house, a new job, sometimes even a new dress add a lift to your days. But sometimes that lift is caused by a person. We meet people all the time who come and go and stay and leave. I thought about the people that I know and began to assign colors to them, likening their personalities to a color. Why not? Beats chewing my nails!

Let me explain: some people you meet are like the color fluorescent green—all flash and dance. They can take over a room if you let them. And when they leave, the room is not quite as colorful, but after they’ve gone it can be more restful. Some people can be more like muted shades of natural things, like the beige of the sand, the pink in a sunset, the green of spring. These people are usually kind of quiet and yet, the color they bring to your world is necessary to the way you see things. They are part of the fabric of our “coming in and going out.” They are the base coat of our lives-- listening, painting alongside of you as you create your painting on the canvas of life.

And then there are people who are blend of the vibrant splash and the understated hue. If you find someone like this, you know you are blessed. If you are friends with someone like this-- your life is more colorful, rich, more—well—more something.

And so I come to my friend we pay to tribute today. This colorful friend was a mix of the splash of humor—that fluorescent green I talked about and the muted hues of understanding and compassion. And he has gone on ahead without me. He left me standing in the middle of the room without a paintbrush or even some paint. BUT—I can hear the color of his laughter and see the gold sparkle of his understanding. I can feel the warmth of his brown bear hugs, even though I will never physically feel them again. And oh, I really hate that. Because he brought so much color to me. So much love and joy and exuberance and even passion for our God and his life, that my paintbox is suddenly devoid of much. And I want it back. I want him back.

We get to go on. We add some more brown or green to our day. We splash a bit of cream into the fluorescent blue of the sky so it will seem not as bright. We hug. And hold hands. We pray and we slowly, slowly see the Master Painter has left us a canvas to keep on painting. To show others the colors that are in the world, even though our friend the giver of color, is not.

But I am so thankful for that colorful man. So very blessed to have had him as a friend and a painter along the way. Rest well, Carl and save a paintbrush for me.

Another Way to Look at Things

So I did a post the other day, full of poetic imagery and lofty words. Today I'm left wrung out and my poetry is decidedly flat. And I guess "deflated" is kind of how it feels these days. Not defeated, but the air has billowed out and I'm feeling less than buoyant. A friend of mine died last week. He was a good friend. Cantankerous and funny and kind and passionate. He was all those things and will be forever in my mind. So many people have said both today and other days since the news has spread, "I can't imagine church without him." Personally I can't imagine life without him. And yet...

I didn't see him every day. Wasn't even guaranteed a conversation with him every Sunday. His wife, a saintly woman if ever there was one, and he would visit other congregations on Sunday mornings for various reasons. But their (and my) "home" church was where we saw each other. He came to my Adult Sunday School class and hammered out what it means to be a Christian in today's world. We talked theology and biblical texts, but we also talked work and children and spouses and everyday occurrences. This is so rare; so rare to be able to share faith in this way with someone. When we would go out for breakfast at the local diner, we would share laughter and philosophies and waffles, and crunchy hash browns and eggs.

When he would be absent from us for a few weeks, I would text and he would cryptically respond with one or two word answers, leading me in my imagination to fill in the spaces of what was going on. He had been sick, but they were adjusting his medications he would say or more annoyingly, he wouldn't say and would swear his wife (I said she was a saint!) to secrecy, not wanting to share whatever was going on privately in his life. But lest you think he was stingy with himself, that is not the case. He was generous and honest. Giving hugs freely when he knew you needed one and even sometimes when you didn't think you did. But those great big arms would enfold you and, glasses askew, you would know this was just what you needed at that moment. He had a mischievous sense of humor. And if there was irony to be found, he was there like a magnet, with a twinkling eye and smug smile.

He was so many things for me, I will be picking apart my memories and thoughts and dissecting my heartache for some time yet. I can't imagine life without him, week to week. But my life has been enriched for his presence. And my soul has been warmed by his light.

Down For The Night

As opposed to down for the count. I went to a viewing tonight. I wasn't particularly close with the deceased. I know the rest of the family marginally. But felt compelled to go out of respect for someone I hold dear. But this post won't be about the viewing as interesting as it was. This post is about the fact that I had a tough time getting warm today. And after standing outside in a line, waiting to get into the funeral home, then having the door stand open for all the other mourners, then finally getting far enough away from the door so that the cold air didn't creep up your pant leg, I paid my respects to the family and...had to go back out in the cold again.

Hubby came with me and he drove. But he is stingy with the heat usually and I kept thinking that just a little more fan on the heater would do nicely. But he wasn't  doing that. So we drove home and I couldn't feel my toes any more. I rushed upstairs to the bathroom to get a hot shower, when I realized the radiators weren't even that warm! How could that be? It's freezing outside! They just hadn't cycled around, the hubby explained. They would be warming up again soon. So I took a hot shower and shivered while toweling off.

And now? Well, we have this nifty thing for on top of the mattress. It's like a blanket heating pad. And I am currently reclining on top of it. And I'm finally, finally warm! Ah, bliss.

There's No Place Like Home

I went to the movies today to see The Wizard Of Oz. No, not a remake. The original 1939 version in all its black and white then Technicolor blaze of glory. Saw it on a regular movie screen. It was pretty good that way. Noticed a few nuances I hadn't seen the few millions of times I'd watched it before on the little screen.

Maybe because I was with some women I hold most dear to me, that I pondered the tag line of the movie, "there's no place like home." Two of the women with whom I attended (my mother and sister) helped to define what "home" meant to me growing up. And indeed, home was almost always where they were. With me. And our two brothers and father and cats and assorted dogs and even turtles and birds. There was no other household like ours. I suppose it wasn't particularly unique in the small town in which we lived. But the assortment of characters within that house were unique as compared to what I witnessed in my friends houses. There was no place like that house on the corner to me.

Another woman in attendance to this movie with us, was the wife of what we have always considered another brother, if not a blood relation. He has been with our family in some fashion for almost as long as I can remember. This woman so seamlessly blends in with us and our relationship with her husband that she is like another sister to us. Same quirky sense of humor, same no nonsense caring for each other. Her presence brings a sense of home to me through her laughter and conversation. She is comfy and not demanding and, well, just like family.

The last young lady is my daughter. She represents the home my husband and I have made. She is my partner in laughter, in observation of life's injustices, in loving kindness and generosity...she is the part of my heart that walks around yet is tethered to me.

Home has changed for me over the years, but wherever these women are, that's where home will be. And indeed, there's no place like it.

Winter Bite

Oh, artic bite
Oh winter chill
Thou findst a space
With which to fill
Betwixt the scarf
So soundly wound
And wooly hat
Upon brow pulled down

The roads are ice
The windshield, too
Thy fingers gloved
Are turning blue
It matters not
How much you've blown
The mucus from thy nose
Is flowed

To bed, to bed
The covers pull
The windows rattle
As the sill
But warm beneath the blankets drift
Until the clock, at six
Will miff
And bundled up against
The day
You brave the crunch on
Sidewalks way
Return to face the sullen sky
Another winter to get by.

Fuzzy Ears in The Dark

There's a new fashion trend. I don't know what this fashion "thing" is called, but it is a hat with ears on the top and a loooonnnnggg scarf attached to it with mittens or gloves at the end of the scarf. I'm sure it's meant to be cute on little kids and perhaps pre-teen girls. But I've noticed that older kids are wearing them, too. Largish teens, males especially, appear almost menacing when they 'round the corner at the local shops downtown wearing what I assume is meant to be a cuddly teddy bear, but gives the impression of a grizzly when perched atop a 6 foot football player. They, the guys, don't appear to notice the small squeak of a little old lady when she is confronted with this sight. They continue lumbering on their way to the local Starbucks, looking more like a herd of foraging beasts than the cute, cuddly, innocuous beasties they are meant to be. Or maybe they do know how intimidating they appear. Who knows what goes on in the minds of large teenage boys? Certainly not me! But it can be a jolting sight.

Let me explain. I was on my way home from a committee meeting the other night. My sight in the evening is not the best, so I'm careful while navigating back streets especially, where pedestrians roam and frequently come out from behind parked cars in an effort to test my reflexes. Suddenly, in my peripheral vision I saw a large fuzzy head, with ears standing straight up. It was coming up on my right rather quickly. It appeared to be getting ready to cross in front of me, but it was walking upright!  I had seen deer dart in front of me, but what was this hairy beast approaching on two feet? Could Bigfoot be in the neighborhood? And would he be wearing a flannel shirt and sneakers? But no, it was a large young man with a cat-like thingee draped on his head and around his neck. It even had a little pink tongue sticking out, which could have appeared cute on someone else, but on this hulking brute it looked like a demon from hell. Needless to say, I stomped on the brake and waited until the apparition has disappeared before shuddering and driving on. I hope this trend doesn't last too long. My imagination is getting away with me.

The Wreath is Still on the Door

Christmas day is past. Christmas is NOT done yet, but December 25 is past. I'm a firm believer that Christmas isn't over until at least Epiphany, which is January 6th. The Wise Men figurines are plodding their way across my mantelpiece towards the manger scene even as we speak. There are still candles in the window. The tree is still in the corner, occasionally plinking down its spiky evergreen leaves, reminding me to water it. There is still LOTS of candy in the house, lots of cookies, lots of "bad for you food" and very little good stuff like fruit and vegetables. I'm going to pay for this holiday for quite some time.

But we came together, the families, over the two-week time span. We laughed and smiled and drank and ate and laughed some more. We texted and Facebooked and Insta-something-or-other our friends until the batteries ran out on all our devices. This is the part of Christmas that fills my soul. This part nourishes me as no other time in the calendar. Even the blessed Sibling Reunion does not do as much filling up the "tank" as Christmas. I don't know why that should be. Maybe it's a vestal appendage from our father, like a sixth finger. He was Father Christmas to us. Gruff and rough around the edges, but at Christmas he was fuzzy and blurry. Loving as he was at no other time. Christmas is like no other time to me. Scrooge's are reborn at every turn and having a "Holly, Jolly" Christmas happens with very little effort on my part.

So ho-ho-ho everyone. And Merry Christmas! And Happy New Year, too while we're at it. The wreath is still on the door, the candy is still in the dish and the Wise Men are still making their way to their destination. Let's keep the good cheer going for at least another week!

Whew!

I had a near miss tonight. I was on my way to a meeting at church. I wasn't late or anything, but it was sort of rainy and the glare from the oncoming headlights was amplified by the water on the windshield. I stopped at a light, looked left and began to ease my foot off the brake to turn right on red,  when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A person coming up on the right, walking with a huge black umbrella stepped directly in front of me. Sincerely, I do not know how I missed them as I'm pretty sure my foot had already migrated over to the gas. I suspect he noticed my inch forward as he yelled and scurried across the intersection. My knees were like jello. I pulled over after turning the corner. I was afraid to drive.

I have had misses before. They are not a common occurrence though and they always leave me shaken. I always re-evaluate my driving for days afterward when this happens. Am I being too careless? Am I paying attention as I ought? I don't text or answer the phone while driving, but that doesn't make me a saint behind the wheel by any means.

All I can say is that God was surely watching out for that person as I evidently wasn't. Whew!

The Anticipation Is Almost Too Much

I'm taking a trip this week. It's a place where I haven't been for quite a while, but some pretty great people will be there with me and I'm so excited! I've started packing already. I've started cleaning up around the house and putting things in order so that when I get back I won't have to worry about it. I'm trying like the dickens not to think too much about the happenings when we get there. I really want to just let the days flow as they will. But when you wait so long for something and then suddenly it's imminent it's hard not to get giddy. And think about the time away. And how much I'm looking forward to it.

I'm taking a trip this week...

An Unusual Position

Sometime today, I think this afternoon, I will be attending a party. I'm not exactly sure who will be there. I'm not sure where it will be held. I don't know the kind of food available nor the entertainment nor the proper way to dress, even. You see my family is indulging me by throwing a party for me. I haven't had a birthday party for some time. Our daughter and my hubby planned it along with some help I'm sure from son and son-in-law. I know my sister and brother-in-law will be there as well as my younger brother. Oh, and Mom and step-dad. I think they will have left the dog home, but I really can't be sure of that.

I'm a little nervous and of course, feel somewhat guilty at the same time. Nervous as I always am when I don't know what to expect. Guilty because I asked for this outright. I didn't hint or give sly clues. Of course, originally I was going to plan it, which meant I had some control over the contents. But our daughter who is filled with so much love for her family, took this on with the hubby that I confess can be something of a wild card, if not channelled into more conventional ways. They are off doing something or other as I write this.

My family is everything to me. My hubby, whom I frequently needle in this venue, but whom life would be desolate and maudlin without. Our son, so handsome and caring, so sure sometimes of what he wants while struggling to do the right thing-which may NOT be what he wants. Our daughter, who makes me gasp at her beauty both in and out, who believes strongly in justice and you can never have enough cats. Her husband who has been so very caring this week as she struggled with vertigo while putting the finishing touches on her Mother's whim. My sis, my buddy, my traveling companion/planner, and my best confident who knew me when we shared a room, a bathroom and an occasional box of tissues. Her husband, who might as well have been born into the family, he's so much a part of the fabric--he makes me laugh, he hugs me when I need it and listens when I try to work something out. My younger brother whom is such a kind and kindred spirit, that even when not having a conversation, we can guess what we are both thinking. My mom, I am so blessed for having this woman be my mother and my friend. And my father of step who laughs with me at the things we both do--mom and I! And my older brother, who I miss almost all the time, if I give myself  into it. Who is facing some horrifically sad stuff right now. I wish I could hug him and his wife, but they know, they know. All of these people love me and will be there. I'm excited to be with them and share laughter and conversation.

But it's a surprise mostly who will be there. An unusual position for me.

A Smell in The Air

What is it about ladies perfumes? Some of them are as heavy and cloying as a brocaded curtain, while others are ethereally whispery as a silk stocking. I never got the hang of perfume. Oh, I wear some every day, the same scent Monday through Friday. I wear something a little heavier on Sundays when I get all "gussied" up for church. I don't usually wear a scent on Saturdays. I don't wear make-up then either. But other women I know seem to get wearing perfume. It's an accessory, like rings or the right pocketbook. Their scent matches their outfit.

Of course, some women wear perfume and wield it like a club. Recently, I was mingling with a lot of different people. I was acquainted with some of them, some were total strangers. I happened to see a young woman I hadn't seen for quite some time. She gave me a hug along with a full onslaught of her perfume. And I could smell it hours afterwards. I kid you not, hours. When I got home, hubby, who hadn't attended the soirée moved to the other side of the couch. It was worse than tobacco smoke. I went upstairs to take a shower, sure that the scent of my shower gel would obliterate it, but no it didn't. What kind of ingredient is in perfume that would resist soap? And would you wear it? Well, I wouldn't. But apparently she finds the scent so attractive she bathes in it. Then I thought perhaps, maybe she doesn't smell it anymore since she wears it so strongly. Maybe she has gotten immune to the fumes. Whatever the reason,it still lingers around me, not quite as strongly, but there nonetheless. Hubby said he would sleep in the spare bedroom tonight until it wears off. I wonder if it will clash with my scent tomorrow morning? I wonder if I will now have to begin wearing this clinging, cloying smell because I can never be rid of it. Maybe that why she wears it! Oh, Lord. I'll have to buy stronger soap. What do they use to get the smell of skunks out of dog fur? But seriously, the smell was noxious or even gagging. Just strong, pungent. I won't forget this young woman for a while now. And maybe that's why she wears this scent.

A New And Different World

I spent yesterday in the Big Apple with my younger brother. We went places I hadn't been before. He indulged me as he's seen most of this stuff. But one place we hadn't seen was this store we went to. Now we didn't go to NYC to shop, that isn't the appeal for us. We go to museums or galleries or Central Park. But shopping? Nope. However, we had some time to kill before our train left the tracks and we decided that a good way to end the day was to buy some chocolate. Chocolate is a perfect way to end a day. Of course, it's a perfect way to begin a day, too, but I digress.

He used his "magic phone" to find a store, and the closest one was not what we expected. It was an entire store dedicate to a well-known, small, hard coated with chocolate inside candy. An entire store! Three floors dedicated to these small candies that marketing has evolved to have personalities. There are red, orange, brown, green, blue, which most of us are aware of, but did you know they have purple? Or ivory? Or pink, maroon, teal, and even more variations? The entire first floor looked to be dedicated to T-shirts, pajamas, and other paraphernalia. We were in awe! And the shirts were emblazoned with the personalities of the colors: yellow the sort of dopey guy, brown with the eyeglasses. Brother and I were giggling as we climbed aboard the escalator to the second floor. Again a merchandising paradise of mugs, sippy cups, onesies and even poker chips!

But the wonder didn't stop at the bounty of items to purchase! You could get personalized candies! That's right, get some special initials, names, clip art...all kinds of stuff put on the outside of these candies. Imagine melt in your mouth, not in your hand candy with your name on them! It was ingenious! Now to be perfectly honest, I knew you could do this, but I thought it could only be done on-line. Here we were in person! It was an opportunity too good to miss.

And so the brother and I stood in line. For quite a while. Were there a lot of people? No, but the family from a distant land in front of us was having a hard time negotiating the computer which generates the lovely names, pictures, initials, what-have-you. They were gesturing grandly to each other in what sounded like the language of the Swedish Chef from the Muppets show. They didn't look especially thrilled about the experience either. When you go about getting personalized candy, shouldn't you be happy about it? Anyway, brother and I finally got our chance and it was a hoot! I laughed so much my face hurt. And we missed our train. But I will always remember the candy store and the millions of variations of colors and laughter we shared all wrapped up in a hard candy shell!

Balloons and their symbolism...discuss

I was in a hurry this morning. I had things to do, places to be. But I had to stop at the grocery store for a quick minute to get some milk. We were almost out and I was going to be having breakfast when I got done my errands and I hate running out of milk for my cereal. I was sort of rushing after buying it, thinking of what the day would look like, if I would get the things done I had envisioned, focused on crossing the parking lot, when something flashed just overhead. Now, usually when something flashes overhead in this neck of the woods, it's a plane. We're on the landing pattern for a large airport, so planes are an everyday, no, hourly, occurrence. But this flash was closer and there was no engine noise. So I looked up. And saw a green, shiny, star-shaped balloon floating above the parking lot. The curious thing was this--there was not one crying child in the vicinity. You know what I mean, how a child whines and whines to be allowed to hold the balloon and as soon as their chubby little fingers get a hold of it, the ribbon escapes their grasp and they are left bereft, watching their treasure float off to join the airplanes. No child. The other interesting thing? It was not floating up. It was floating horizontally about 15 feet off the ground. It was very curious. I stood stock still for several moments watching it's slow and stately procession above the crowded lot and loft just above the trees which separate the shopping center from the local high school football field. It was mesmerizing, watching it take it's time, ambling along just slightly below the telephone and power lines. I couldn't imagine the science responsible for making this balloon sailing as it did. Wasn't helium supposed to be lighter than air? Shouldn't it have been racing up to the clouds towards its implosion in the upper atmosphere? I puzzled about it through the rest of the day. Stopping at various points and wondering if it was still traversing it's lateral path many miles from here. And if anyone else had taken the time to see it.

Uh-Oh

I feel it coming. A disaster is on the horizon. I know it. How do I know it? Well, I usually get this feeling of disquiet or discontent. This is usually followed by my saying or doing something so incredibly dumb, even for me, that socially I'm suddenly a pariah. Or I find a financial disaster is looming on the horizon that I should have seen on the horizon is suddenly looming IN MY FACE, and other people would have seen it coming, but no, not me.And I have to scramble to raid my savings account (what little is in there). But I always get this premonition though, that things are about to go south (or in deference to my brother and sister-in-law) go wrong. I don't know when or what it will be, but it's definitely coming. I just don't know when. Or what manner. And I really can't be ready for it as I don't know what quarter it will come from. I've tried heading things off by keeping myself contained to the house, but there is always email. And the phone. I could say I've gone off on vacation I guess and removed all outside influences. But the temptation to plug back in again is too great. Nope. I'll just have to tread carefully and quietly for the next few days.

The other way to do this I guess is to just go ahead and do something disastrous on purpose and get it out of the way. It usually takes a couple of weeks for the dust to settle after that, but then it's another year or so before I get this again. But the consequences...that's what I hate. The consequences of whatever this thing is that is looming on the horizon.

So I tiptoe gingerly around the house. Letting the answering machine pick up the phone. Letting my email go unanswered as long as I can without appearing rude. While my stomach churns (of course it could be what I had for dinner last night) and I wait in anticipation. It's coming. I just don't know when.

A New Day

I'm sitting here quietly in the morning, listening to birdsong and seeing the dew on the grass. It's morning at my brother's house and the world is just waking up. As am I! I'm contemplating the day to come and the day before this one. I'm thinking about events planned months from now. I'm thinking about our kids-hubby and I have these great adults who are part of us wherever we go. I am also wondering if hubby is awake yet to greet the day.

The opportunity to just sit and ponder things, reflect and just drink the quiet in happens so rarely. From the time we get up to the time we slump boneless into bed is filled with busyness, noise, tedious    minutiae of everyday life, it becomes harder to process or even savor the life that is. And so before our day, I sit and listen to the beat of the world around me. A great gift, this day.

It Was Amazing!

Those of you who know me or my physical prowess (or lack of same), know that I go to a gym these days. It is an interesting time for me. I find out my limits, my abilities and my lack of coordination all while paying someone who, patiently I must add, encourages me while I puff and pant. We have done some exercises that I had never done before, like grabbing an enormous python-like rope and slapping it on the ground and even kicking a standing pillar of gym mat (oddly satisfying). Of course there are the exercises that I gave up on, too, like sit ups or lunges. All of these things are good for me to do, else I would sit in a gelatinous mess on a chair, reading yet another book.

The thing is, there are certain things I have never been able to do, like cartwheels. They look fun, but my legs would never straighten when going over, so I resembled a crab rolling on the sand in gym class. And I could never do a chin up. For love or money, though no one offered me money. The physical strength needed to pull myself up just plain wasn't there. So when my lovely, patient trainer suggested a kind of chin up today, I thought she'd finally gone 'round the bend. "A chin-up?" She nodded her head, she made encouraging noises and then she showed me what she had in mind.

There is a piece of equipment in the gym which has two vertical uprights, weights in back of them and other instruments of torture attached to the top of the uprights. She showed me a piece of webbed strap connected to the uprights and weights. If you asked me exactly how it worked I wouldn't have any idea, but the trainer had me step on the strap and essentially hang down while holding the horizontal bar. She told me to pull up towards the bar and VOILA I did a chin up! For the first time in my 59 years, I did a chin up! It was amazing. I was so excited and happy! And honestly that isn't how I frequently respond to my workouts. But I have to say, if she offers this to me again, I will definitely try it again. It was amazing!

For Barb's Information

The prep begins the day before. You are told through pamphlet and phone calls to eat a liquid diet. Broth, fruit juices, water, flavored seltzer. But they add in ominous overtones, NOTHING with blue, purple or green dye in it. Or was it red dye? Well, whatever, so you drink your breakfast and lunch and think, well, this is no big deal. But then comes the drinking of the evil liquid. Six ounces poured into a large plastic cup, you add water to fill to the 16 ounce line and begin to drink. You were warned that it tastes like sea water, or some noxious chemical. To me it had a slight fake grape aftertaste. Of course, I really hate fake grape anything, so this was not a selling point to me. You are told to drink it all down then follow up with two sixteen ounce glasses of water. I finished the weird drink and felt full. But I still had 32 ounces of water to take in within an hour. I sat and sipped while reading, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did for a while. I decided I needed to move to sort of "get things going" so I began to walk around the house. Then I realized I had only had a little of the "follow up" water. I went in to get some more and tried gulping it down. But I still felt full. And the water made me feel fuller. I started sloshing around the house again. And then I had to get to the bathroom very quickly, where I stayed for the next two hours. It was okay in a way. I had my reading materials. I had my iPad to play games on. But every time I thought things were slowing down, and I moved to the room next to the bathroom, oops, I had to hotfoot it back to the bathroom again. I didn't feel queasy, or crampy. It was just sort of, well like someone had turned on a faucet and left it on. You wouldn't think a person who was on liquids all day could possibly have that much in them!

But then the worse part comes. Because you think things have finally slowed down enough to sit for a while when you realize it's time to take the next liquid dose of the mystery chemical! Another sixteen ounces. And this time it seemed harder to get it all down. The gag reflex was working, and even though the directions tell you that you have x amount of time to finish the drink, you REALLY, REALLY want to finish it as soon as possible because it's really starting to taste bad now.  And you still have to drink another 32ounces of water after this! You don't believe it's humanly possible to swallow this much liquid and aren't you all flushed out anyway? And the answer is no, you're not.  So it's back into the bathroom again for a few more hours and you are beginning to be cold and sleepy and you are pretty sure you are either going into shock or something when your body finally, finally, let's you drag yourself to the bed, where you fall into a fitful slumber, dreaming of bathrooms and endless glasses of water and the sound do the toilet paper roll running out of paper.

The morning comes. Your appointment is happily in the morning so you can get it over with quickly. You dress, visit the bathroom a couple of more times (hard to believe ther's anything left), and finally you ge to the surgical center and

EVERYONE is so nice. It's like they realize that the prep is so gross, they want to make up for it. You are whisked away for an IV, a quick consult with the anesthetist, and you find yourself in the operating room getting an injection to put you to sleep. When you awaken, you are full of gas, but that passes quickly. Then you are up, given cookies and soda and sent on your way with the information that since a polyp was found, you will be visiting in three years.

And, that Barb, is what to expect!

Late Night Melancholia

I really want to be asleep right now. I closed my eyes about an hour ago and they just opened and stayed that way. Heavy sigh. I got up. What's the use of trying to sleep when your mind is running, running, running. There are a million and one things to think about right now and they are crowding into the brain at alarming speed. However, I am shoving them to the side (or back or whichever lobe has room at the moment). And the reason is this: I just re-read my older brother's blog post from April. He celebrated the 6th anniversary of his blog with a jaunty playlist and some honest realizations.  I went on to read the comments because I didn't remember if I had commented and wanted to see what others wrote. And there was my other brother commenting in his insightful and wistful way. And I realized I missed them.

When you grow up and move away from family, you start to rework your priorities. Everyone knows this. and Everyone does it. You begin to carve out time for the spouse, the pets, the kids, the job, then the taking care of the house, then the taking care of the kids, then the cleaning of said house, then the maintenance of the car, then the maintenance of the marriage, then--hopefully--the maintenance of sanity by finding a small space to simply stop and breathe. And with all this rearranging of self and time and space, you suddenly notice that its been weeks--no, let's be honest, months since you've conversed with the people you used to live with 24/7. Now, if you don't happen to like your parents or your siblings, this could be freeing and indeed liberating. However, if, like me, you enjoy your family and find them comforting and good companions, this is the opposite of being free. You suddenly feel guilty for having a life outside of them. So you decide to reach out to them and find they are busy with their lives and they haven't gotten to that point yet of, oh, yeah, we haven't talked for a while, have we? So you back off and don't talk to them for even longer, because you don't want to whine or be a pest. It's not a happy place to be.

Recently some people that I thought would always be there were suddenly not. One of them passed away and the other one is moving. I had a rush of feeling that nothing is permanent. No one is there for you all the time. And maybe I'm not quite as lovable as I hoped I was. It's a ridiculous train of thought since the world doesn't revolve around me, but my perception kept poking at me. And then I thought, wait, this isn't true. My family is permanent. My siblings and I really love each other and are there when we need to be. And so I dab my leaky eyes at midnight, thinking of my brothers and sister who I love very much. And hoping they know how much I think of them even when I'm up in the middle of the night, with way too much to think about.

The Name is Gom

I have two talented, wonderful children. I don't say this often enough. Or even loudly enough. They bring joy and laughter as well as heart bumping angst. Don't all children?

My oldest has a birthday today. I remember her early steps around the perimeter of the living room at Talking Stair Inn. She was so proud of her accomplishment. And we were so excited to have such a sunny, beautiful little girl. I remember our early walks, she stopping every few feet to admire a leaf, a dandelion, or a particularly interesting stick. We would, of course, have to bring the stick home with us to admire at a later time. There was quite a collection of them at the back door. I remember walking to the local elementary school, golden ringlets bobbing down the street, and attacking the swing set with fierce joy. She would belt the ABCs whilst reaching to the sky with those pink and white sneakers. I remember the smile on her face as I came to pick her up at Nursery School. I remember the frowning concentration of drawing and coloring at the little yellow table.

When I see her as a young woman now, it seems like those memories are a million years away. They happened to two other people, distinct from the two of us. But then she smiles joyfully at her accomplishments and I am whisked away to the time of sunny afternoons singing the ABC song holding a little hand, and a stick in the other, ringlets bobbing down the sidewalk.

Happy Birthday sweetie. Love you lots!

Ambivalent Mourning

A person I know died this week. Actually, that's inaccurate. Two people I know died. One is much beloved and his passing will leave a hole in my life for a while. But the other person, well, she's a little harder to define in terms of the space in my life where she used to be.

The woman who died, was in a plane crash. She was a dynamic sort of person. She was always moving. Walking, running, talking, doing, doing, doing. She could be annoying in her movement, if you were in her way, if you didn't move at the same pace, if you didn't see the next place to be was important. Bur I liked the courage of her convictions, even if they weren't mine. I appreciated her drive, even if I didn't have the same. And I did like her smile, which she gave out generously. But, I hadn't really seen her lately. I used to run into her in the local town and find out what she was up to. But when I heard of her death, I realized how long it had been since I actually saw her. She was a part of the landscape in our town. One of those people you just saw from time to time and updated the goings on when she stood still enough to talk. We knew each other better when our children were in the same preschool, although I think my youngest was a year older than hers. There was a fluctuating group of moms who congregated in the local cafe before picking up the kids and she was of that group. There were also a few of us who went to an exercise class before pick up time and she was definitely a part of that group as well. It's hard for me to believe I won't see her again. She was younger than me. It seems harder to swallow when someone younger than you dies so suddenly. There were still some things we had left to say to each other. There were still some memories to share. The weird thing is, if I were to send a sympathy card to her kids, they wouldn't have a clue who I was. It's hard to mourn someone you knew, who you talked to, but never really got to know at all. Bye, Marc.