I'm surprised to see all the things I haven't posted here, that most of the accounting of my life is tucked away, unfinished in the drafts folder -- isn't that a woeful metaphor? This is what strikes me most about having such an irregular presence, is that when I load up my page I read fossilized moments. I suppose the animate intimacy of this blog died a long time ago.
There is still a lot of me here, if you see that or not. I have been posting for more than 7 years, which is longer than any other thing I have ever done. Is there any sense of time passing?
-My neighbor died and was buried between a holly and a rhododendron on a wet, wet gray day. The mud soaked through the leather soles of my husbands shoes. She was 99 years old, my age when WW2 ended, retirement age when Clark's parents brought him down to meet her as a new-born baby.
-Sometimes I have these awful days that just go on and on, punctuated by arduous cross-valley car steerings and driver-seat picnics. Today was that day. When I got home, Thea was all grown up, sang me songs and said "love you" for the first time as I squeezed her door shut at bedtime. Okay! Yes! It was me! She said it to me first!
I've been doing this since forever. This blog is a touchstone, one steady thing that time swirls around.
- ▼ 2011 (15)
- ► 2010 (25)
- ► 2009 (20)
- ► 2008 (43)
- ► 2007 (88)
- ► 2006 (98)
- ► 2005 (99)
- ► 2004 (239)