October is visitors’ month in our new home. It’s happily inevitable when you move to a new place. Though, come to think of it, our summer was pretty full of visitors, too. And we rationalized that as being happily inevitable when you are moving away from an interesting place. Either way, I’m happy because it means that there will be more people around my table. That’s the stuff of thanksgiving for me.
It is very hard in some ways to write about grief … mainly because it is about “you, you, you.”
My key ring’s getting a bit bashed up. I bought it six years ago, when I had just completed the Camino de Santiago. As you can see, the yellow paint is chipping away. I liked the key ring a lot then – I’d just spent a month walking across Spain, following spray-painted yellow arrows all the way. They are there to keep the pilgrims on track. And, for the most part, they work.
The last time I got a pet and it died, I vowed I would never involve myself again in that kind of grief. The years have slipped by and I still pat dogs and cuddle kittens, but they are not mine … no way, the last lost puppy nearly did me in.
You are different from anyone else in the world.Your mother is a unique individual. Your father is not like anybody else. It is because all people are different that your family is different from any other family in the entire world.
Lately, I’ve been trying to follow some advice Eugene Peterson gave about giving the Sabbath a proper centrality for the week. He said to break your week into three tasks: anticipating, celebrating, and remembering.
My best friend has just been put in long-term care. I remember how her and Harry cried the last time they saw each other at the hospital. I guess they knew the writing was on the wall.
The people of our family take care of us and teach us about the world as we grow up. Our parents, brothers, sisters, and other relatives love us, watch over us, give us shelter, and protect us from harm. They offer us security, comfort, physical contact and care. Family provides a constant in any child’s life.
To my friends,
September is an exciting time of year with the start-up of school. I have a young neighbour who started school last year. He is really excited to see his old friends again. He loves to learn and one important thing he learned in Junior Kindergarten was about families.
I couldn’t resist. Yes, the book titles were memorable enough on their own, but put them together and you get something all together inspirational. Somewhere between Agatha Christies and Wonderwoman takes on the government. Sometimes that’s just the inspiration I need.
It still seems strange to be alone,
When I was with you all those years.
Ten years ago, I sat by myself on a fourth-hand futon and watched the television. It was a bit strange – to watch history unravel by myself – and also strange because I had recently moved into the Blob.
My friend R. who was a neighbor for years, visits frequently. She is high on my list of earthly angels and helps me with my computer, (with which I have a love-hate relationship).
Today, I just want to write about tomatoes. It’s September and the season of proper tomatoes.
It’s also the week of our move, and the kitchen’s packed away. We’ve been working through the last of the pasta and frozen peas.
“It’s a bad day,” I’d hear you say.
“Oh, no it’s not my dear.
It is a really good day, because you are still here.”
A few days spent in a foreign country often wake you up a bit. And by foreign, I mean somewhere you don’t speak the language.
I didn’t realize until after my husband died how many layers I had put on my personality during his illness. They were there to protect me and in honesty, to continue a façade that would protect my daughters.
Tomorrow, I’ll be going to Stonehenge. The Spouse and I are tag-teaming host duties for the in-laws: each day one of us sets off in the rental car for some English explorations while the other stays home to get some work done. The kids go out every day, spending as much time as possible with the grandparents because, really that’s what this visit is about.
have a widowed friend who was there to share my heartache and tears as my husband’s cancer progressed. She had gone through the same process two years before.
Have you ever taken a toy away from your brother or sister that made them cry, only to be forced by your mom to say […]