Six months
I'm thinking about our trip to Madison tonight. That was already more than six months ago. The time since then has both dragged and sped by like nothing. Struggles become overwhelming that you see no end in sight, but then the end arrives and you wonder where the time went. You somehow made it through.
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A message keeps popping up on my phone telling me to update my cloud storage (it's just Verizon's way of trying to get me to spend more). I hit "remind me later," and a week later, I get the same reminder. And every time I see that reminder, I feel like I just saw it. But it's been a week since the last, and a week previous before that one, and a week earlier before that one, and so on.
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I saw Grandma's star tonight. After she died, I assigned her a bright one in the sky (it turned out to be Sirius) and looked to it every night I could to remember her, to speak to her, to miss her. Tonight, I missed her a lot. She and Grandpa worked hard for most their lives. She worked for Teletype for a long time, and when it closed and she was laid off, she could have easily retired, but instead, started working in factory near her house. Then she got a job at an insurance agency, and all the younger female employees loved her--she was the mom figure but one who would smoke with them. But she kept working until she was close to 70 -- almost 50 years. Did she, or my grandfather, ever think their work was too hard or not worth the stress to the point they would make a big change? I don't know; I never got to ask.
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Ben got a hit in his baseball game tonight. After not getting one through the first few games, he has two in his last two. We had a nice, sunny evening for baseball -- a marked improvement after a couple games in which the temperature barely cracked 50. I came home and was bouncy, so I mowed the front lawn.
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Ben asked me earlier today if we could do more fun things this summer. I told him yes. It crushed me that he had to ask.
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Grandma's star will soon disappear from the night sky -- the combination of the Earth's orbit and the longer days push it out of view until next November, about six months.
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I'm anxious tonight, so I'm writing on the front porch, wrapped up in a blanket. I've worked for six months toward a moment that's imminent, but now that it is indeed imminent, I'm nervous. I've prepared for it, and the results of that preparation are coming to fruition. Nothing to fear, but I'm anxious nonetheless. I'm yawning now -- a good sign considering I'm worried about not falling asleep after I wrap this up. Ben is in our bed right now: He got a retainer yesterday and it's bugging the heck out of him to sleep with it. Let him rest. In time, he will get used to it, and eventually, he won't need it anymore. That will happen before we even realize it.
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It all turned in Madison six months ago. OK, it had been angling a little before then, but that weekend in Mad Town changed my focus. The six weeks after were better, then winter came and the general feeling of blah returned. Yet, we made it through the winter. It's May!
***********************
A message keeps popping up on my phone telling me to update my cloud storage (it's just Verizon's way of trying to get me to spend more). I hit "remind me later," and a week later, I get the same reminder. And every time I see that reminder, I feel like I just saw it. But it's been a week since the last, and a week previous before that one, and a week earlier before that one, and so on.
************************
I saw Grandma's star tonight. After she died, I assigned her a bright one in the sky (it turned out to be Sirius) and looked to it every night I could to remember her, to speak to her, to miss her. Tonight, I missed her a lot. She and Grandpa worked hard for most their lives. She worked for Teletype for a long time, and when it closed and she was laid off, she could have easily retired, but instead, started working in factory near her house. Then she got a job at an insurance agency, and all the younger female employees loved her--she was the mom figure but one who would smoke with them. But she kept working until she was close to 70 -- almost 50 years. Did she, or my grandfather, ever think their work was too hard or not worth the stress to the point they would make a big change? I don't know; I never got to ask.
************************
Ben got a hit in his baseball game tonight. After not getting one through the first few games, he has two in his last two. We had a nice, sunny evening for baseball -- a marked improvement after a couple games in which the temperature barely cracked 50. I came home and was bouncy, so I mowed the front lawn.
***********************
Ben asked me earlier today if we could do more fun things this summer. I told him yes. It crushed me that he had to ask.
***********************
Grandma's star will soon disappear from the night sky -- the combination of the Earth's orbit and the longer days push it out of view until next November, about six months.
************************
I'm anxious tonight, so I'm writing on the front porch, wrapped up in a blanket. I've worked for six months toward a moment that's imminent, but now that it is indeed imminent, I'm nervous. I've prepared for it, and the results of that preparation are coming to fruition. Nothing to fear, but I'm anxious nonetheless. I'm yawning now -- a good sign considering I'm worried about not falling asleep after I wrap this up. Ben is in our bed right now: He got a retainer yesterday and it's bugging the heck out of him to sleep with it. Let him rest. In time, he will get used to it, and eventually, he won't need it anymore. That will happen before we even realize it.
************************
It all turned in Madison six months ago. OK, it had been angling a little before then, but that weekend in Mad Town changed my focus. The six weeks after were better, then winter came and the general feeling of blah returned. Yet, we made it through the winter. It's May!
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