BrachiatingBaby

4 years ago...

2011-10-13T10:54:00.002-05:00

Right about now, four years ago, I was sitting in the basement making yarn when my water broke. Karl was upstairs getting ready for a marathon grading session - papers all over the dining room table, gradebook open, determination on his face... Never had he been presented with a better alibi for procrastination.

We thought for sure we'd meet our baby that day, but stubborn and slow (like um, one of his parents), he waited till after midnight to appear.

The four years since have been full. Every day Elliot has amazed me, and he continues to be the best reason *I* have to procrastinate on so many other things.

As I look into schools for next year, I can't help but feel a little sad that our time together will begin to drift away from the majority. The last year has been marked with huge leaps in his in independence, and while it's exciting to see him become an amazing little person, it's also hard to let go of my baby.

I hope to make this birthday, perhaps the first he will remember, and last I will have full control over, as happy as I possibly can for him.

For him, that means trains, trains, trains; for me, love, love, love.

happy early birthday, boo.

A day five years ago led to today...

2011-09-23T21:32:00.003-05:00

At least the sheep are still here.

Shot, in a good way?

2011-09-10T23:34:00.003-05:00

Took myself, Elliot, and Taj Mahal to the Botanical Garden this morning to do some documentation. I kind of ambushed a friend into taking the photos, tho she was not thrilled with the idea, as she does not consider herself a photographer. I had to explain some basics, like focusing the camera, and not shaking it around too much in low light, but she started to get the hang of it pretty quick.

With Elliot, um, assisting, we had a lot of photos like this:

But we also managed to get a few pics with the shawl as the main focus:

After 120 shots or so, I let Amber get back to her regular Saturday, and took a few more detail shots just for the record:

More images up on Flickr, and soon the pattern will be up on Ravelry as well.

So much for magical thinking

2011-09-06T19:26:00.003-05:00

As we sat at a stoplight the other day, L was telling me to make it green.
I might have told him that I could make it change by rolling forward...
Just a little. So I did, and it did, and he was thrilled.

I am working on what we will call, for now, a personal project. It is something
I have done before, but this time I have to do things a little different. So it really
made no sense to think that recording relevant data in the same notebook I used the first time
would somehow insure success this time, but well, I thought maybe I would get lucky.

Sometimes, tho, you roll forward, and all you get for it is another chance to hit the brakes.

The end of a long road

2011-08-30T13:57:00.002-05:00

Or maybe the beginning.

I burned a little midnight oir (or 4am oil) last night and finally finished writing the pattern for Taj Mahal. I'd finished the final knit a few weeks ago, and had been trying to motivate myself to take those last steps to finish off this project... what did it? The fact that I really, really need to clean the house.

So naturally I got right to work on pattern writing ;)

Learning to swim

2011-08-27T02:18:00.003-05:00

I fell
from a cloudless blue sky
into the blue black sea

Gasping, flailing
finally treading, then swimming
to a refuge; a raft

Still tossed in the swells
soaked in the spray,
drifting, thirsty
clinging,
every rise and fall
a twist in the gut

Then washed
on the shore
that now is my home

The crash of the waves
wanting destruction
now sing me to sleep

Three

2011-08-22T21:52:00.005-05:00

Three times around the sun

and today is just a day

like any day

and also not

You left as the sun rose

and I wasn't looking

when it set

It whispered across the sky

again today

in the everyday way

it does

east to west

and never back

your laugh still echoes

and warms my heart

and your son

(my sunshine)

glows brighter

every day

I did something yesterday

2011-08-21T23:19:00.002-05:00

It was not a funny thing, but while I was doing it, I kept hearing Karl laughing. I miss that sound, and it was good to be surrounded by it, if only in my head.

Maybe, if all goes well, I'll tell you about it later.

Spend more, save more? Not really.

2011-08-19T00:54:00.003-05:00

I used to tease Karl because he always tended to buy the suggested quantities of things that were on sale. If Schnuck's was running 10 for 10, guess how many items would be in our cart? He'd remind me that by buying more, we were saving more, and I'd reming him that we didn't need 10 jars of minced garlic.

That's really nothing to do with my shopping trip today, other than the fact that I did buy things because they were on sale, and I did have about 100 tiny heartbreaks browsing the racks in the kids department, just like I always do.

You'd think they wouldn't get me, what with them not saying Karl-esque things like "little professor" or "pure genius" or "Can I have a G&T in my sippy?"

But really anything with Daddy on it, well, gets me right in the gut. Even crap like this:

Eventually they outgrow the shirts, but I doubt I'll ever stop hating that I can't stand to buy him one.

Live more, Document less.

2011-08-15T23:12:00.002-05:00

It's not that I mean to live by that philosophy, but lately I seem to be doing more, but taking fewer photos and writing fewer entries about all our fun. Maybe I'm finally sure I have nothing to prove to anybody, or perhaps I'm just getting lazy, but the pressing need to document every moment has been sliding.

Today we went to MOBOT, and had a lovely time. I didn't bring a camera, and the few shots I took on the phone really don't serve to do anything but say "we were there."

So I'll just say there are interesting things afoot that I may never tell you about, and we are having as much fun as we can while we have time to have it. I'll let you know if anything is earth shattering, but then, i suspect you'll notice if the earth shatters, and won't likely be running to my blog for details.

cheers.

Nearly Three Years

2011-08-10T20:15:00.003-05:00

Here it is August again.

I haven't been sleeping well. Two nights ago I dreamed Karl kept coming back to life, only to die again. It was funeral after funeral, but we kept having them in different places - you know - to keep it fresh. Or something. We were maybe in south america for one, and the locals figured us for tourists and kept trying to sell us really cheap shoes.

Last night it was a road trip with El, and there was a roadside park in a little town, and a music festival starting. We pulled in and waited for things to start, and he fell asleep on a bench. I wondered a few feet away, then fell asleep against a tree. When I awoke there were people and cars everywhere, and I couldn't find El. Everybody just looked at me like I was crazy as I frantically searched for him. The police wouldn't answer the phone, and the information center for the fair, located in a funhouse type building on a strange hill, admitted they had found a blond headed kid, but since I had no proof he was mine, they were in no hurry to get him to me. "If the police said he was yours, sure, we'd hand him over..." Eventually they returned him, but not before some strange talk about cloning...

12 days till the anniversary, and my mind is clearly stressed. I haven't felt rested since returning from the trip up north, and I can't help but worry about the next two weeks.

Why yes, it has been a while!

2011-08-04T11:24:00.004-05:00

We're doing well.

Summers are always hectic, and this one has been no different. We've traveled, we've worked, we've played - the usual, really. Facebook has made me lazy about the blog tho - it's so easy to post a quick pic or blurb that I keep tel

ling myself I'll expand on later, but later doesn't happen.

Highlights of the last 3 months -

Planting stuff in the yard
Alpaca Shearing Day

Big Storm felling tree by Mom's house

Visiting Matt and Vanessa

Steam Train visit by UP 844

Riding Miniature Train in Wildwood

Arkansas - Diamond Mine, Clinton Museum, Family Fun

Circus Flora

Four Square at Third Degree

Florida - Meeting Rory!

Falling down stairs (ROUS)

Finishing first glass trains

Wisconsin - H&D Farm & Uncle Phil's

Steam Train Ride - Lumberjack Express

Giving up on Garden

Finishing Taj Mahal

Block Party

Other TBA stuff...

So it isn't for lack of material that I haven't written, but more a lack of time.

I have learned something tho:

B-B-B Bee!

2011-05-05T10:24:00.004-05:00

On our way to school yesterday, I gave Elliot a book to look at in the car. He sat in the back seat pointing to pictures and naming them, then, looked thoughtfully at the book.

"B - B - B - Book." he said. Then "B - B - B - Bee!"

This is the first time he's actually figured out a letter phonetically, so I was pretty excited. "Yes!" I said. "Book starts with 'b'. B - O - O - K. Book."

He looked at me skeptically. "No. That's not enough 'o's." he said, very seriously.

"Oh. Should it be B - O - O - O - O - O - O - O - O - K?" I asked.

He grinned as I said "Booooooooook?"

"Yeah." he said. "That's right."

We are not who we were...

2011-05-05T00:18:00.005-05:00

Tonight I went to see Matt Logelin at his book signing. I've been following his blog since shortly after Karl died, and have always admired his strength and generosity.

I have to say, my less than positive experiences (which I'm certain now are oversight, not ill intent) with the shawl are behind me, and I'm sold.

Matt dresses his daughter beautifully. No, she wasn't there tonight, but I point it out only to say that perhaps, one day, she will return the favor. That or not let him drop her off within 10 blocks of school... Karl would have loved Matt's thrift store fashion sensibility, and it is clearly a point of pride for the 'wouldn't be' author.

He read the forward, then one of my favorite chapters from the book - in which he explains why he dresses Maddy the way he does. As I listened and watched, I wondered about who he was before. During the talk, and afterwards at the 'groupie' dinner I invited myself along to, I felt a definite affinity - here was someone reshaped at the same forge, by the same hammers, that I had been stricken by. I don't know if the transition from who I was to who I am was instant or is still ongoing, but I sensed in Matt a man transformed as well.

Matt seems to have a stability, buoyancy, confidence, and flexibility that weren't necessarily born in him, but instead hammered in, and I like to think the same characteristics might be seen in myself. Before I lost Karl, I was not the person I am now, and neither, I imagine, was Matt before Liz.

It must be the cruelest kind of self improvement ever.

Under this kind of pressure, I think, one can break or stand taller. It is impossible to face such loss without changing. The audience that came to see Matt speak had clearly experienced their share of grief, and I felt lucky to be part of their lives, if only in passing. People shared selflessly and hopefully their own stories of loss, and love, with no agenda except lifting those around them.

Here's to the irons who straighten their backs, and keep holding up the world...

Update:

2011-04-23T00:36:00.001-05:00

The poison ivy is sprouting on my lower lip.

Note to self: stop chewing on the plants.

But I have chocolate, and I'm not afraid to eat it. All will be well.

Not My Best Day

2011-04-22T19:35:00.004-05:00

Actually, the day was fine. The evening? Not so good, so far.

Fin ate my favorite shoes while I was out today, then peed all over the house to apologize, then got out of the yard b/c somebody's been coming in and leaving the gate open. He ran in front of two cars, scaring me half to death, before finally running back into the yard because it was starting to rain and he's a weenie about that.

But not before he got covered in mud, which he tracked on the pee spattered floors.

The neighbors have been mowing my lawn and trimming bushes, clearing debris and weeds, and generally being awesome lately, but it makes me feel like crap that I can't take care of more myself. So the past week I've really pushed to get the outside spruced up, but it means inside everything's gone to shit.

So now the house, a mess already, is just awful, and to top it off I can't find my mop bucket or the spray cleaner for the wood floors.

Elliot's hungry, and we just got home from the grocery store so at least there's food options, but I can't stand how messy everything is, and I'm kinda losing my cool here, so I'm taking a little blog break.

You know, for sanity. Regain my calm in the middle of the storm.

Anybody want a dog?

Did I mention the poison ivy covering my right forearm and half my chin?

AAARRRGH!

(Mommy? Can you see me poopyin'? says a little voice in the background. Thank god it's coming from the bathroom.)

Dean and Rove

2011-04-22T17:15:00.002-05:00

Went to see Karl Rove and Howard Dean last night. One of the most interesting things about the whole affair was that, as we were leaving, not only could Dad and I not agree on which of the two was being more inflammatory and/or evasive, we couldn't even agree on what questions were asked.

Interesting to see how strong the lean, and how selective the hearing, of even two self proclaimed moderates can be.

As for Dean and Rove, yeah, it was just what you would expect... hyperbole, ego, and completely contradictory "facts" and numbers. I imagine both of them believed they were telling the truth at least three quarters of the time, and perhaps they actually were half the time.

It did showcase the polarized audience too, in that every statement one or the other made caused exactly half the audience to burst into applause, and the other half to boo and hiss, or at least roll their eyes.

I do love the Speaker Series, and I'll miss it while we're on summer hiatus.

Milestones

2011-04-15T22:27:00.002-05:00

Tonight seemed like the culmination of a few weeks of back and forth with Elliot about bedtime. He'd been fighting bedtime, and the routines around it, for a while, and I finally put my foot down a little last week. We had two nights of knock down, drag out, no holds barred fighting.

Earlier this week, one night as it was getting dark he said, "Soon it will be bedtime." that night he slid easily into his routine and went to bed pretty easily. The next night he fought again, but I held my ground.

Last night he was at Grandma's, so I can't really say how he was, except that he's been suffering allergies and not the most agreeable. But tonight, for the first time in recent memory, he went to bed in his own bed without me present. I read his story and sang a song or two, then left the room.

20 minutes later, he was asleep.

I'm not holding my breath that this will happen every night, but it's so nice to know that it can happen, and my expectations of him are not completely unreasonable.

Now if only I could get myself to sleep so easily....

If you wanted to know...

2011-04-03T18:12:00.002-05:00

I'm reading Two Kisses for Maddy, Matt Logelin's new book detailing his own experiences with marriage, widowhood, and single parenting. I've got a lot of opinions about it so far, and plan to elaborate once i finish the book. Everybody deals with grief in different ways, and sometimes I find myself agreeing, other times not, with his perceptions... But for now I will say this - he painted a very honest picture of the moments, weeks, and months after her death, and anybody trying to understand what a loved one (i.e. me?) is going through upon losing a spouse should probably read it.

More about that later.

We spent the day enjoying the weather, and I'm pretty sure I have sunburn, but we flew kites and had a picnic in the park and life is good. Hello, spring.

Everything was original, once...

2011-03-31T23:50:00.006-05:00

Elliot and I, as other people...
Tangential to the post, or maybe total non-sequitor.

So often it is said that there is nothing new under the sun.

The thing is, it hasn't always been said, only quite frequently since it was first said. So once, it was new, under the sun. Or perhaps the moon, if they first said it at night.

Anyway, the point? As I fumble along this path that might lead to art and might lead to something better, or something worse, well, what about creativity?

I've always felt it was my stumbling block. Once I have an idea, I can run with it. I can stretch it and bend it, push and pull it, but eventually it resolves. It ends. I can't repeat it endlessly, because I want the next idea now, thank you very much.

Problem is, I don't have Ideas. Or even ideas. Occasionally i have a thought, and with enough agressive pruning I can pull an idea out of it, but more often I see other people toting their ideas around, tossing one here, one there, barely breaking a sweat. Maybe I could sneak along behind, you know, and catch one they drop now and then. Use it like a seed, grow something with it...?

But when i make something, I want it to be MINE. Call me selfish - go ahead. Call me crazy, while you are at it, because, of course, there isn't really anything new under the sun. Our bodies are made of the recycled atoms of our food, of our forefathers, of dinosaurs and sandstorms and oceans and poop. But they are our bodies, now, and they ARE new.

And so our ideas could be new, even if others have thought them before. I want to strive for a unique collection of recycled beauty, recycled love, recycled expression in what might be art, might be vanity, is there a difference?

I was reading this, which, naturally, I saw on FB. Right away, I stole it and reposted, because I liked it. I didn't always agree with it, but I liked it all the same.

Maybe I need to let myself steal more. If there was anything I learned from Karl's passing it was to be kinder to myself, and maybe beating myself up for not having enough ideas isn't the way to live. (duh, right?) But I've never wanted to make somebody else's work, so I have left all their pieces untaken.

So a mission, then: Steal 5 things*. Dissect them. Take 1/5th of each. Reassemble and call it new. See what happens.

I'll keep you posted.

*intellectually, of course.

Replacements, or, I'm Back!

2011-03-29T12:39:00.005-05:00

I finally got the new computer. I opted for an iMac instead of another MacBook, and so far I'm happy with the choice.

While the transition from the Time Machine to the new iMac wasn't seamless, it was reasonably easy for somebody with computer experience. I hit a few bumps, but in the end all my data was where it should have been, and I am thrilled to have the new machine up and running.

I hope this will mean more frequent updates here, as I have been reluctant to blog from the iPhone. It was just too tedious typing out my always too verbose ponderings on the virtual keyboard.

This week I also plan to replace a set of speakers and a filing cabinet. Besides kudos to Mac for keeping my data safe, I also have to give thanks to American Family Insurance for paying for it all. Their service and support since the breakin has been fantastic, as was their help when I had the roof replaced.

Now, I am being called upon to operate some paper puppets for the boy, so I'm off.

It is good to be back.

The Simple Life

2011-03-22T11:12:00.002-05:00

I don't have much to tell.

I've been a little frozen. A little hibernating. A little lost from my earlier hopeful path.

But the air is warmer now. We have spent days out in the yard reclaiming it from the kingdom of dead things and weeds.
We have strolled in the park and planted seeds in the windows.
We have started coming out of the cave. Coming back to life.

We will see if the writing bug bites as all other things begin to hatch and awaken.

Till then, life rumbles on.

Long time gone

2011-02-11T23:52:00.008-06:00

So it has been a while, huh?

I still don't have a computer, and I have found it both
freeing and isolating at the same time. In theory there
is a check on it's way from the insurance today and soon I will
be back to my old habits, but for now I will fill you in on the new
year so far.

I have been sad. A lot. Partly I think it is the weather, partly my
own ineffective efforts at being more social. Partly, and it is a big
part, I miss Karl terribly. And in addition to losing him, I lost two
imagined children - babies I had vivid dreams of even before Elliot,
and who still haunt the landscape of my sleep.

Of course, that is a bleak landscape of late, and poorly tended. I've
tried establishing better sleep routines, sound machines, herbal
teas; nothing is gettinge past the insomnia. I lay in bed sometimes
for hours, my mind buzzing with heartaches, anxieties, sometimes
desperation, sometimes fatigue so bone deep the feel of it pulling my
eyes down makes something inside me fight to stay awake.

In my once-upon-a-time fairytale life, I was supposed to have a daughter
now. She was going to come when Elliot was 3, and her name is Emily.

She has Karl's red hair, and she's beautiful. I dress her up girly till she
won't let me anymore. She follows her big brother everywhere, and he
adores her.

The reality would be different, of course. In the world of what if, she might
be blond. Elliot might hate her. She might love frilly dresses her whole life.

I only know her in dreams, and if I let those dreams come, I am doomed to
wake up and lose her again.

So I am considering ways to bring her into the real world, if she
Isn't here already. But I worry.

In the meantime Elliot is growing and talking and making the waking
moments of my life delightful. He is infectiously joyful, and I am so
grateful that he is mine.

Otherwise, life goes on. We eat. We drink. We work and play. I try to
keep the sadness at bay and often succeed. I am working on
sketches for new glass work, finishing knitting projects left and right,
and slowly recovering the house from it's long neglected holiday disrepair.

We wait for spring, and hope it brings warmer weather and warmer feelings
to chilly winter hearts.

Dusted - not Busted

2010-12-21T23:05:00.004-06:00

So today I was robbed.

The day started out great. I had my Christmas cards ready to mail (before New Years), have my shopping well in hand, if not finished, and generally felt like I was overcoming some of my annual winter Bah Humbug.

Elliot and I set our for errands and shopping around 1:30. We ran around quite a bit, hit Taco Bell for a bit of a snack, and got home around 4:30.

I had my hands full as I walked in, and I hate to admit my house is currently enough of a disaster that I couldn't tell we'd been robbed. As I put my shopping bags down on the couch (already covered with packages and presents) I noticed a drawer was open on the buffet, and a sleeping bag was awkwardly spread out on the dining room floor.

At the same moment, somebody knocked on the door. I yelled "Who's there??" and it was my neighbor Phyllis. I grabbed Elliot and stepped out the door, closing it behind me.

Two years ago I gave Phyllis an ornament, and she's been bugging me to sign it. She had a pen, and I took it from her and tried to remember my name. What was going on in the house? Could the cat have dragged the sleeping bag out? He's a big cat...

"I'm a little freaked out right now..." I wrote my name and asked what year I'd made it. She told me, and looked worried.

"Um, somebody's been in the house. I think. Maybe my parents were over for something?" I called my mom. Yes, I know. When you suspect somebody's broken into your house, you should call the police. But I am the master of denial. I really am.

I told mom about the drawer and the sleeping bag. "Hold on," she said, "we'll be over in a minute. Just hang outside and David will go in and check things out."

Elliot, Phyllis, and I decorated our front bushes with red and gold ornaments while we waited, a project I'd been meaning to get to but it's been too cold. The box of decorations was sitting on the porch, so we dug in as the robbers most likely fled out the back.

After about 5 minutes, the cavalry arrived, and David went around back, confirming that the basement door had been broken in. Denial shattered. Reality's a bitch.

911, details of address, name, etc, and the cops were on their way. I tried my best to play it cool and not project stress at Elliot. How to keep him safe while keeping him totally unaware of danger... a fine line. The police arrived about seven minutes later, looking stern, and entered through the broken door.

We saw flashlights flash through the house, bottom to top, and I held my breath till they finally came out with the all clear.

And here's the really embarrassing part...

"Man," said one of the officers, "Messiest burglars I've ever seen!"

At which point I shrank a few inches and meekly admitted we were likely the cause of the majority of the mess. This was confirmed when we got inside. They had knocked over some piles and tossed a few things around, but most of the chaos preceded them.

I'm still trying to access my mental log of possessions to figure out what they took. I know what they left - the cord to my computer. The tv, my guitar, and a bag of chocolate and booze, all of which they left by the garage door (guess they couldn't get it over the fence...) My DSLR, which was buried on the table, my jewelry, still in it's travel pouch in the bathroom, incognito.

They got my computer, my(Elliot's) ipod, and our wii. My little point and shoot also seems to be missing, along with Elliot's birth year Mint Proof set from his godmother. I'm sure there are other missing things, but it will take me a while to (not) find them.

In the mean time, I refuse to be that put out by all this. I guess I just don't have a victim mentality - it was stuff, and all of it replaceable. We're safe and sound, and the alarm will be getting more use from now on. Other than having a lot of sticky black powder about the place from the finger print dusting, things are actually quite a bit tidier than before the robbery, so I've got that going for me... which is nice.

I'm not holding my breath that they'll catch the guys, but Christmas is coming, and I refuse to be a humbug. A small technical adjustment has allowed me to deadbolt the offending door, and life goes on.

Movie Night

2010-12-14T22:01:00.006-06:00

Sometimes I get really worked up about movies. I get too emotionally involved and too agitated - too attached to the characters. For days I'm upside down emotionally over their fates...

I watched The Namesake last night. A friend had recommended it a while back. I can't remember if it was before or after Karl's death - the movie was released in 2007, but who knows when my friend saw it and thought I'd like it. The title had bounced around in my head for a few years, anyway.

It's one of those movies that sweeps through time, encompassing multiple generations as they grow and mature. There's only time to show snapshots - small moments that are formative to the characters as they learn who they are.

It's also a movie filled with themes that resonate with me, but most poignant was Ashima's last conversation with her husband, because it so closely mirrored my own. It was eerie and a little disconcerting to witness the shock and grief of another woman, fictional tho she may have been, living the same nightmare I had lived.

Oddly, tho, I had no trouble sleeping last night. I liked the film and believed the characters - they were charmingly human in their imperfections. I cried for their suffering as I watched, but it just didn't seem to carry into my dreams, which were no worse or better than they have been of late.

Of course, that's not saying anything, really, because they have been a little overwhelming. Last week a particularly painful dream, one where Karl and I were sitting in bed together, excited about the baby girl growing in my belly, watching Elliot play, all of us so happy... and all the while I knew he was gone, knew it was a dream, kept telling my dream self that I would have to wake up. And he would not be there, and my belly would hold nothing but the remains of last night's burritos, and perhaps a little too much gas.

I'd worried about opening myself up to this story, but I enjoyed the movie, which had a generally optimistic message. We survive broken hearts, just as we sometimes survive broken bodies... right up until the moment we no longer can. And every one of those moments is, in fact, a gift.

Drifting, Floating, Flying

2010-12-06T00:11:00.003-06:00

Sometimes it's hard to be honest.

I like to record the best parts of my life here, and recently there's been a lot of good fodder for that. I haven't taken the time since getting home to write about all the great moments that added up to our amazing trip. The cruise was wonderful. My first dive couldn't have been much better without actually spotting mythical creatures. Elliot thoroughly enjoyed every* aspect of the boat. In short, it really was a dream vacation for me.

But vacations end, and tonight there's a lingering feeling of unrest. I can't bend it and twist it into poetry or submerge it beneath the greater joys.

It's partly the cold - we've hit the time of year when the hot water just can't make it through the cold pipes, so my usual hot bath is only tepid at best; my feet won't stop aching with the chill, even in 3 layers of socks. I hunch forward in the car, sitting on one hand, driving with the other, switching as feeling returns to the left, and leaves the right. I don't handle winter well.

More than just the weather, tho, is the season. Karl loved Christmas. I'm trying to love it but it's never been easy for me: the forced togetherness can cause undue stress for we social anxiety sufferers, and the family and media pressure for it to be a happy time - the Best Of Times - it wears me out.

It isn't that I'm not happy. I have so much happiness in my life, and I'm so grateful... The problem is, at the same time, I'm so deeply sad I don't know how express it. To say I miss him, to say I'm lonely, it's such an understatement. But here I am trying to put feelings into words - knowing there's really nothing to be said.

It's just one of those nights that I can't sleep, and I can't clear my head. One of those nights I'm not scared of the dark, but it does take away my balance. Tomorrow will be brighter, and I'll tell you stories about floating.

For now, dark and drifting, I'm keeping the details to myself.

*He's not so good at being served. Independent? Stubborn? Oh, yes. Stories to come.

Life Under Weather

2010-11-20T23:44:00.002-06:00

We've been sick for a few days now, and I'm getting a little sick of it. Elliot and I both are coughing, snotty, and have on and off fevers. I'm wondering if perhaps the "camp out in my dr's waiting room till they sign the damn form" plan was not well formulated. I failed to consider that Elliot would be rolling on the floor, chewing on the chairs, and bumping into sick strangers the whole time.

Alas.

So our plan is to tough it out with OTC stuff till Monday, and if we're not better call in the big guns. I'm not generally one to use antibiotics, but if I can knock out this sinus trouble before I dive, I can relax my standards a bit.

Since we've been lethargic and napping on and off all day it's now near midnight and somebody is still up.

So, embarrassing mommy moment of the day: Elliot went potty all by himself wiped, flushed, *and* put his own pants back on, and I cried. Seriously. I blame the fever.

Wish us well, because I can't take much more.

Life Underwater

2010-11-15T21:46:00.002-06:00

The past few weeks I've been a little busier than usual. I signed up a while back for a SCUBA class, and as of yesterday I'm officially certified for open water diving.

The class, which I took through West End Diving, and at Bonne Terre Mine, was fantastic. We met for two days of work in the classroom and a local indoor pool, then the following week two days diving at the mine.

I'm not a fan of cold, and the water there is a balmy 58 degrees, but despite being certain when I first jumped in that I would either a: fail the class, b: quit the class, or c: die of hypothermia, none of these things happened.

Instead, despite being uncomfortably freezing during the first few dives, I enjoyed it tremendously. We did skills the first day, which meant sitting still a lot and waiting. That's when the cold really got to me. Once we were done with the self-rescue stuff (clearing masks, retrieving dropped regulators, working out leg cramps) we got to be more active, and the cold became less of a factor as the muscles started to work harder than the brain.

Day two at the mine was all active and I barely noticed the cold. We learned to set our bearings on a compass and follow them underwater. We learned to maintain neutral buoyancy while swimming and changing depth. We played circus and swam through a series of rings, and played catch with a pool torpedo at 30 ft. And yes, I throw like a girl underwater, too.

Between our second and third dives I was sitting on the dock swimming in my own little emotional whirlpool. I missed Karl so much during the class. He would have teased me about being cold and found it brisk and invigorating. He would have cheesily held my hand as we swam on the tour. He would have made instant friends with half the class, and told wonderful stories of our SCUBA adventure to all our friends at home.

But if he were here, we would have never been in the class. The only way I could justify the expense, really the only way I could pay for it at all, was the life insurance policy I've been so hesitant to touch for two years. It's my safety net, and my security blanket. That money will help make sure Elliot gets a good education. It may also help me build a studio someday. Despite wanting many reasonable things, I haven't dipped into that reserve till now.

When my friends invited us to go on a Disney cruise with them, I felt like it was something I had to do. It was something Karl would have done. He didn't let money, or the lack of it, get in the way of life.

As several people in the class said after loosing equipment over the 130 ft abyss of the mine, "It's only money. We'll get a new one." Granted my classmates were in an entirely different tax bracket, but still, it's true.

I sat on the dock, missing Karl, but happy, and knowing I was doing exactly the right thing. I've wanted to get certified since I took a recreational class in high school. That's been, well, more years than I like to admit.

I've always been responsible with my spending, sometimes to the point of denying myself even small luxuries. When I got married, I had zero debt and a healthy IRA started. My husband, well, let's say he had other priorities. And I'm coming to believe he was right about that to.

How we spend our time is far more important than how we spend our money.

Extremely bad planning with my finances will lead to time badly spent, but a little indulgence here or there, especially on experiences that mean something, truly are priceless.

So, SCUBA + Disney Cruise + Bahamas = smaller bank account = bigger life.

I can make more money.

I can't make more time.

We leave Black Friday for Florida. Sometime around Monday, I'll be jumping from the deck of a boat into the ocean, chasing a long time dream. Karl will be right there beside me, reminding me to go ahead and buy that underwater camera, because you only live once, and it's only money.

I can't wait to report the underwater conditions when we get back.

I meant to say

2010-11-10T23:54:00.003-06:00

a lot more about today. about the roller coaster that is being a mommy and a widow and a friend and a day that was beautiful but bittersweet sitting on the edge of winter...

but i got sidetracked.

so instead, a quote, perhaps, about more than one man in my life:

Move that melon of yours and get the paper if ya can. Hualin' that gargantuan cranium about. Look at the size of that head it’s like an orange on a toothpick. I’m not kiddin that boy’s head’s like Sputnik. Spherical but quite pointy at parts. That was enough said isn’t it. He’ll be cryin himself asleep tonight on his huge pillow.

North, and then Home

2010-11-01T18:51:00.006-05:00

We headed up to Wisconsin on Thursday to visit with Karl's family. Growing up, his grandmother had a tree farm an hour west of Green Bay, and when she passed, it was divided between her three sons. Karl's dad now stays young tending to various duties on the property - not the trees as much as the golf course he made out of one of the cleared fields, and the collection of vehicles around the place, not to mention the farmhouse itself.

It's always bittersweet to visit. Karl loved the farm, and always dreamed of moving up there when his parents were gone. Our visits there before and after we were married were full of good times and happy memories. The year we went up for Thanksgiving and the whole property was blanketed in snow, Karl wanted me to go walk with him, but as soon as I stepped outside my eyes froze shut and I'm pretty sure a lung collapsed in the sub-zero wind chill. That pretty much killed his dream of moving to the farm, but not his love of it.

I was sitting in the kitchen with Donna. Elliot was napping, and Harley and Phil were out working on the RV. As she puttered in the kitchen I sat at the table knitting and listening to her whistle under her breath - not constantly, but as she paused between motions, deciding on the next job to do. After a few minutes listening, I said, "So that's where Karl got the whistling. It used to drive me crazy sometimes." There were times when I thought that was the only reason he did it, really.

She seemed a little off guard, and her eyes got a little misty. "I don't know why I do it. I started sometime when I was a little girl, I guess. I always teased Harley that I'd get him whistling, yet."

After a pause, "It's hard, isn't it? Missing him?"

I agreed, and that was that. I went back to my knitting, and she to her housework.

Some highlights of the visit, in no particular order:

Elliot helped Grandma pick up sticks out in the yard. One of Karl's favorite photos as a child was of him and his Grandma K out in the same yard working on the same task, but the trees were smaller then.

While Harley was servicing his new (used) riding mower, Phil and I tool Elliot out on the golf cart and he hit his first few balls. Not exactly skillfully but with enthusiasm. Like father, like son.

Thursday night, as Harley read from Luther's something or the other, (I am not well versed in the verses of the Lutherans...) Elliot sat on my lap. I was wearing Karl's "Mini Van, Mega Fun" tee shirt as my pajamas, and he was looking at the line drawing of the van. Then he was distracted by the shapes underneath. He began to rub my chest, and rather embarrassingly clearly, said "I love you, boob."

In church Saturday night (we were leaving early Sunday) Elliot loudly denied everything the minister was preaching. I may have waited longer than was strictly necessary before removing him from Jesus' room.

Watching Phil play with Elliot, I almost had to wonder if I could have survived Karl's inevitable wildness... Besides looking enough like Karl that it's sometimes creepy, Phil has the same goofy sense of humor and childlike enthusiasm. Easy to be transported into the world of "if only..."

All in all we had an excellent trip, and can't wait to go back. El, in fact, woke up this morning crying, "No. No. I don't want to be home. Let's go back, Mommy. Please, let's go back..."

Playing Doctor

2010-10-26T13:19:00.003-05:00

Today Elliot had his 3 year exam. While the good news is that he's healthy and doing all the things he should at his age, it could have gone better.

He was hesitant from the moment we got to the door, but went in despite his trepidations. He didn't want to go back to the exam room, and once we were there his anxiety just continued to grow. He didn't want the nurse to listen to his heart, didn't want the doctor to come near him. I got a little reprimand (in the form of helpful advice) for not having prepared him well for the visit. We are now the proud owners of a Doctor's Tools Playset.

We made it through the Dr. part of the visit, but when she left, he wanted to go with her. I'm sure he remembered what happened last year after she left, and I'm sure it was the source of the anxiety. Unfortunately they were running a little slow today and he had to wait 5 minutes between the Dr. leaving and the nurse coming back for shots. He started out just whining a bit, but by 3 minutes into waiting he was full on crying, and by the time the nurse opened the door he'd thrown himself on the floor and was full on shrieking.

Good times.

I had to hold him down for the shots, but ultimately I don't think it was as bad as he thought because when she left, he seemed to be looking in her tray for another shot (or maybe another bandaid). We went out to the waiting room, and instead of leaving he rushed back down the hall to the exam room. I was trying not to make it more traumatic than it had been, so I tried to let him leave calmly of his own accord, but he flat out refused.

So I carried him, screaming and protesting, *out* of the doctor's office...

We got home and spent a few minutes checking temperatures, blood pressure, and heartbeats with the new MD kit. He's pretty insistent that the eye/ear checker is a hammer made to forcibly drive the bandaid down into your flesh, so yeah, the familiarizing with medical equipment is going great so far.

She Told me Once

2010-10-19T00:56:00.005-05:00

She told me once

to live softly
live safely
to dream in shallows
not reach for rushing
currents

passing swiftly
pulling deeply
she told me (trembling)
what it mean
to drown

i listened because
her voice was mine
her eyes were mine
her heart was mine

one foot on shore
for only a moment
your own hands bound
you gave me this gift

my hands are my own
(she cannot take them, now)
and you left me

knowing

my voice
my eyes
my heart
were yours

and reaching in the water,
my hands are my own

Wish you were Here.

2010-10-17T00:29:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I take pictures of Elliot, and he's way off center. Partly I do it as a compositional thing - I like asymmetric images, and reference the rule of thirds when asked why.

Looking through photos this week, as we approached and passed his third birthday, I began to see Karl in the empty spaces. I've gone back and forth in my head the past few years on the whole afterlife thing. Usually I'm fine with admitting I have no idea - sometimes I struggle to find evidence for or against. Regardless of what else it means, I do often feel like Karl is here, while I know he is not.

In planning the menu (such as it is) for tomorrow's brunch, I wanted to invite him, so I thought I'd use one of his favorite recipes. I'll be making Louies, which I haven't had in ages. I couldn't remember exactly how to put them together, so I searched his blog for "Tuna."

God, that man was brilliant.

Not for cooking, tho I did love that. Tuna just happened to bring up a great set of posts on things other than food.

I love that the results take you from bachelorhood to fatherhood. The irony in some of his Meme responses is sometimes poignant, sometimes hysterical. Not one of the posts can be read without seeing him, bigger than life, writing joyfully and loving the play of one word next to another.

(and certainly not with the prudish elegance of a scholar)

For instance...

6. BABIES?
Didn’t we cover this in the living situation portion? My sister thinks having one would do me a world of good. I am in no hurry. I know I’d make a good father, but this question so puts the cart before the horse. I like being an uncle too, so if it doesn’t happen I’m ok with that. Uncle’s have it good and are not required to change any diapers.

21. FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK?
Do you really need to ask that at this point? We could change the name of this blog to Supersonic Gin & Tonic.

29. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS?
Right according to who? Fuckers. I hate that shit. THERE IS NO ONE RIGHT WAY TO ANYTHING EVER ANYWHERE AT ANY TIME UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE!!!!!! Got it? The whole universe is wide open and we’ve got all these little control Nazis trying to pretend it isn’t. Look up in the sky at night. Are your eyes on the right stars? Stupid question.

As I prepare for (or, rather procrastinate preparations for) tomorrow's birthday party, I know his absence will sting, and not only me. But I know, too, that each of us there has a little part of him inside. I hope, being all together, we can keep him a little closer to us, if only for the day.

A Good Day

2010-10-15T02:15:00.005-05:00

I wasn't able to be the first to wish Elliot a Happy Birthday. Since I taught class late last night, he slept at Mom's, so I didn't go in at 12:46 to possibly rudely awaken him by making a big fuss, which may be for the best.

By the time I got there this morning to pick him up (after 2 loads of laundry, 1 load of dishes, and a quick shower) it was 10:30. He shut down all attempts at singing Happy Birthday, but warmed up fast when I pulled a present into his field of vision.

I had ordered some Cars stuff from the Disney site, and am disappointed to say that Mater came with a broken wheel, so not 5 minutes into his birthday toys I had to take one away. Fortunately I have the coolest kid in the world, and he just rolled with it... (or, rather, without it :)

Elliot, Grandma, Poobah, and I headed out for the day's Big Adventure - a trip to the Whittle Shortline Store to play with the tracks and buy a new piece for his train at home. I was again a little disappointed to find (this was our first time visiting the store) they had very few track pieces, and mainly only their own line of trains available for purchase. Fortunately, Elliot was enthralled with their train setups and dove right in to playing. After about 45 minutes, I talked him into picking a new car (he chose a green tank car) and coming with us to have lunch, then maybe ride a train later.

This had him ready to go in no time, and on the way to the car he told us that we would be riding the train, and a boat, and eating ice cream. He sounded so certain, but only one of the three really happened. We headed to Kirkwood and had a nice late lunch at Bar Louie across from the train station. Just as we were sitting down, the Amtrak pulled in, and Elliot really got a kick out of watching the crossing gates flash and the people get on and off the train. Magically, his kids meal came with an Ice Cream Sundae. Hooray!

While we'd toyed with the idea of heading down to the metrolink so he could ride a "real" train, he seemed pretty warn out, and fell fast asleep in the car.

Since he was napping, I headed out for errands. I ran home, ran another load of laundry and grabbed the dog. Then we hit the glass studio to check on some pieces made earlier this week. By the time I got back to Mom's he'd woken up and was hard at play with his trains.

We opted for eating in, since we all seemed pretty run down from the days activities. By 8:30, Elliot seemed to be winding down and I asked if he wanted to stay at Grandma's so Mommy could finish cleaning tomorrow for his party.

He practically threw me out onto the street...

So, since Matt and Vanessa were in town, I headed to Karaoke! Who needs sleep!?!!? I completely flubbed my first attempt because I got "least complicated" mixed up with "closer to fine" and so stood there completely unable to sing as the words floated by. Lucky it was a slow and forgiving crowd. I got a chance to fix my blunder, did "Closer to Fine" and "The Gambler" and broke in on Ashley's "Put a Ring on It" because, really, who can just sit that one out? Beth rocked the house with "When You're Good to Mama" and Matt, in the most appropriately chosen Karaoke ever, sang "Great Balls of Fire." His vasectomy this week went well, but he seemed a little tender walking up to the bar...

So on a scale of one to ten, today gets two thumbs up with a groovy, danceable beat and a cherry on top.

Happy Birthday, Elliot!

Happy Best Day!

2010-10-14T00:49:00.003-05:00

3 years ago, today, at 12:46am, I finally got to meet Elliot face to face. He was born bright-eyed, curious, and smiling, and his joyful presence has made every day since brighter.

Happy Birthday, Boo,

I Love You!

Belliot

2010-10-12T21:29:00.005-05:00

3 years and 1 day ago, or 2 days before Elliot was born, my midsection looked like this:

Belliot, originally uploaded by jescope.

Nowdays, it's more like this:

Tonight as I was talking to him about his birthday, he thought it was very funny that he had been in my belly.

We looked at before and after photos - him in and out. Naturally, right after the out photos were pictures of Karl holding him.

"That's my daddy. He's holding me." Elliot said in a dreamy way. He sounded happy about it, but also a little confused. He said it again, "My daddy...."

He climbed off my lap with, "Hmm. Let's go find... Hmmm...."

He wondered around in the front room, then noticed his trains. "There's Edward! The big red train is pushing Edward!"

Moment over. Back to your regularly scheduled life.

Holding on to Summer

2010-10-10T10:18:00.002-05:00

We need a few more days outside before the weather turns, so I'm thinking sometime this week Elliot and I need to go apple picking. We've tried to fly the kite a few times, but haven't had the right wind. I'm trying to come up with more outdoor things we can squeeze in in the last little bit of warm weather.

I'm also trying to fight off my annual winter blah, which has already started to rear it's head a bit. I despise the cold, and the few mornings last week I woke up and it was too chilly to get out of bed without a string of curses, well, it's not good. Besides cranking the heat and spending too much on the gas bill I don't have a solution. Something tells me moving to Boston would not make my life that much warmer...

Elliot's birthday is coming up fast, and I need to get the house in order, but the blah has me a little under motivated. I did get a lot done yesterday, but I really hope it isn't too chilly this week so I can get more done and not have my whole Saturday spent frantically trying to clean and prep.

None of this is leading to anything interesting or print worthy it seems, so I best sign off now and go do some laundry. Woot.

I love Grover

2010-10-09T17:25:00.003-05:00

And I love this ad...

And I love them even more together.

Time to clean out the attic...

2010-10-09T12:32:00.003-05:00

I've decided I need to let myself let some things go. I've been a little afraid to really go through and get rid of things because I don't want to get rid of things just because they were his. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like it's actually worse to hoard things then to just get them out of the house. I'm not going to get rid of anything that genuinely reminds me of specific and positive moments we shared, but having a thing just because he loved it is getting silly.

So once again when people come for Elliot's birthday there will be a few boxes of miscellany that are headed for the goodwill unless somebody else wants them. And I will make myself be okay with that, because as I start to seriously consider moving, I need to pare down.

Nearly Three

2010-10-06T22:56:00.002-05:00

Elliot will be three on the 14th. I'm fairly overwhelmed by things on a regular basis, really, since my life became so completely surreal... So I'm trying to wrap my head around the fact that my son is not in any way a baby anymore. He's a walking, talking, thinking, creative, amazing kid.

We've been going to the Magic House once a week on Wednesdays for First School, a schoolroom setting designed for kids who didn't quite make the age cut for pre-school. Elliot usually shares (sometimes agressivly) with the other kids, tho other than to force a toy into their hands he doesn't interact with them as much as I'd like. It's a fairly large group, and he's still a little overwhelmed I think. He's always excited to go, and asks frequently throughout the week about when we will go.

He's got this habit lately when he's in independent mode of letting me know I'm not needed. It's funny, because he'll be in the other room, and I'll think "Is he doing ok? What is he up to...?" And I'll peek in, and as soon as he catches my eye, he says "Nothing." It's even cuter because it sounds like "No Tin" when he says it.

So often I'll be thinking something towards him; "Do you need a drink? Do you want me to hold you? Where are your shoes?" and he's keyed in enough to my routines I guess that he answers me a lot before I ask. Or maybe I'm cued in to him and he projects the questions into my brain... either way, it's strangely wonderful.

Less wonderful is my complete lack of decision making ability on what to do to celebrate his big day. He doesn't really have playmates, so any party we have will be friends and family... so i should just do something at the house.

But, of course, lately i've been sinking a little into my cold weather funk, and that means not taking very good care of the house. So hosting a party is intimidating at best. That, and I'm still a little off balance from August and September and all the bumps and bruises those months now bring.

But I think I'm going to do my typical Sunday brunch, only with a later start and birthday cake. I'm leaning that way, and we'll just see if I've once again waited too long and nobody can make it. Less cooking and cleaning for me ;)

The Count

2010-10-03T00:00:00.006-05:00

I think in the past few years I've been to more weddings than I have friends. I'm not sure it's possible, but I'm also sure it might be true.

I've been trying to put them on a time line in my head tonight.

Karl, Elliot, and I went to:
Jon and Bridgett
Vick and Randy

Elliot and I went to:
Justin and Kristy*
Bethany and Brian
Johnathan and Jennibet
Jim and Anna*
Kelly and Jeff (me only)*
Vanessa and Matt (reception only)
Erica and Nick*
Angelica and Justin*

and tonight, Scott and Brandy*.

I tell you this because weddings are kind of emotionally charged for me, and in 3 years I haven't had much time off from them. 11 weddings in 3 years, 9 since Karl died. And I don't think I've made it through one without crying. Those with * I worked in some capacity - photographer, wedding party, or wrangling Elliot into a wedding party :)

The emotions are complicated, because joy mixes with sorrow, and all the encouraging things I want to say seem like they may twist into downers; Cherish each other because you just don't know when that 'till death may us part' might sneak up and bite you in the ass? Love each other and forgive each other, and be grateful for another person who wants to be with you, because you forget how hard it is to find that person. It's the same advice any married couple might give, but from me, widowed, it feels so gloomy.

On a side note, my hat goes off to all the single parents out there. Wrangling my son through putting on a tux and serving as a ring bearer in a wedding challenged my patience as well as my biceps. Lugging a kid, a camera, toys, treats, juice, and a gps around today, I felt a little like I was planning to invade a small country, not just attend my brother's wedding.

The point where I had a football, ring pillow, slr camera, purse, and tux jacket in my hands, and he looked up and said "Hold me, please, mommy." for a minute I felt so helpless. I had a block to go to the car, and I didn't know if we'd actually make it. At that moment I missed Karl more than ever, and sent out a little wave of appreciation and encouragement to all the other singles out there doing this alone.

Then I packed the camera in my purse, secured between the plush football and pillow. I tucked Elliot's jacket through the straps, hitched it over my shoulder, and lifted him on my other arm.

We made it to the car, and I made it through the day, through joy and sorrow, hope and frustration.

I'm ready for a little sleep, and watching the mailbox for the next save-the-date. I may just about have these things figured out.

Some big ideas start small...

2010-09-27T01:19:00.002-05:00

I'm working on a logo. Perhaps not the first thing one should consider when pondering a business, but as an artist and visual learner, I'm more inclined to believe in something that I have a picture of. So here's my first shot at a studio logo.

Now I just need to work out the details - a space, equipment a business plan... little things. I'm envisioning a small teaching and production studio with areas for glass, fiber, and ceramics.

I have a name.
I have a logo.
I can make this a real thing.

Swimming with Sharks

2010-09-25T22:34:00.004-05:00

Not that I am swimming with them, more that I want to.

We're going on this cruise in November, and the one excursion I had my heart set on was a scuba trip. It turns out, when you read the fine print, that one needs a certification for this. Part of me thinks the practical thing is to skip it this time and take a class next year.

But the bigger part of me has spent the last hour reading up on local dive certification centers.

I took a class in high school, and I loved it. We only ever dove in the school's swimming pool, but I dreamed of diving for treasure in ancient shipwrecks. So few of our childhood dreams are ever realized, and here I see one in arm's reach... but the costs, in time and money, are holding me back.

"Would I be crazier to do it, or not to?'' I ask myself. . .

Time will tell.

Occupational Hazards

2010-09-24T21:29:00.003-05:00

As I type this I'm staring at a large swath of pink, overcooked skin on my left arm. I was working in the studio Monday and managed to bounce a hot pipe off my own arm (a true feat of grace, there).

Wednesday, Elliot demonstrated the power of genetics (sort of) by running full speed into a glass wall at the Magic House. It seems when we get excited about things, we don't pay attention to certain critical details. For me, trying not to hit the glass on any of the many obstacles in my way, and instead hitting myself. For Elliot, seeing only the miniature train rolling down the track and not the big rr crossing signs affixed to the glass just above his eye level.

So now I'm sporting a burn and he's sporting a bruise, and I have a feeling neither of us will really learn from our mistakes...

It's ok to say Happy

2010-09-23T23:34:00.004-05:00

Today would have been our 4 year anniversary. People seem a little at odds with themselves on how to appropriately confront the day. I say it's always ok to wish me a happy day. Believe me, by mentioning it, acknowledging it, you only share happiness.

While I may not always be keyed in to the date (i'm bad with those things) be assured that your mentioning the day will not suddenly remind me of a forgotten pain. Instead it will let me know that you, like me, loved Karl and miss him, and care about how we're faring without him.

While I'm still terribly sad that we lost our monkey, I can remember the good days - the happy days, and be glad for the memories.

Just like I forced denial upon everybody for that first birthday, insisting on happiness through tears, I say now that while we feel the sadness, let's not forget that he'd want us to remember him happy, and be happy, too.

Ready for the Crusades

2010-09-16T09:56:00.002-05:00

I've just finished packing for the weekend. It looks more like I'm leaving for a month. I keep telling myself it's hard to travel with a toddler, and we have bedding, and I'm bringing my full camera outfit, but still, I can't believe I have all this stuff. I hope there's room, or I'll be riding on the roof.

F*&# Them.

2010-09-15T23:11:00.003-05:00

Got a short and dismissive letter from the llf tonight informing me that my donation was too late and won't be used till next year.

In a heartbeat I went from feeling like I'd made a special, unique, heartfelt contribution to being a pathetic lurking stalker with nothing meaningful to give, burdening them with some trinket they have to look after till their next function.

And I feel even shittier for feeling shitty about them, because I believe in what they do.

I understand they are busy and it's the last minute, but one would think when your whole organization is about helping widows, you could at least be grateful and gracious when one tries (if unsuccessfully) to reach out.

I would print the letter here, but I was intimidated by the privacy clause at the end of the email. It was really just a few sentences that said "Thanks, but you're too late. We'll put it in the closet and pull it out next year."

Nothing about it being lovely. Not "I'm sorry we won't be able to use it." No comment on the story I included or the meaning I attempted to put into it.

Just the stern rebuke of a grade school teacher; "It is unfortunate you were ill, but all late papers receive a failing grade."

You are dismissed.

While I'm certain (well, ok, hopeful) that it was not meant that way, it feels personal. I poured a lot of emotion into the piece, and it took a lot of time because I desperately wanted it to be perfect - to be special. I sprinted toward the finish as fast as I could, but I suppose not fast enough.

I know I'm over-reacting, and I do hope nobody actually reads this (by nobody, I don't mean *you*, I mean *them*) but if you can't be honest, what point is there having a blog?

So while the logical part of my brain understands the decision, the emotional side has just been slapped in the face, and can only say, "Yeah. Well, f*&# them."

File Under Heartbreak

2010-09-14T20:26:00.002-05:00

We rode the emotional roller coaster of widowhood today. I got up this morning, after a very productive day yesterday, ready to get things done. I had boxed up the shawl last night and Elliot and I had breakfast and headed off to the PO and then the museum of transportation.

He's a fun age in that he doesn't exactly understand what we're doing when we do new things, but he's enthusiastic. I showed him pictures of old trains on the internet and asked if he wanted to go there today. He started bouncing around and rushed off to get dressed.

I dropped the parcel in the post with delivery confirmation, and it should get there Thursday. Here's hoping they take it - I send an email and heard nothing back. I'm sure they are busy, but it would have been nice to get a yes or no on whether or not they were still accepting donations. It's theirs now, either way.

So, from the PO to the MOT. We looked at the old cars and trucks first, which he totally dug. He went up and down the display about 6 times, talking the whole way. He's a born tour guide it seems, just like Pawpaw.

Then we headed out to the trains. When we were in the first train, a guy came in with his son, who was a little older than Elliot. As they explored the train we chatted casually about the beautiful weather, and that this was way cooler than watching ANOTHER episode of Thomas. The boys were ready to move on at the same time, so we walked together for a bit.

In the next display, Elliot reached over for this guy's hand as he was climbing the steps. He was a father of 4, and took it in stride, glancing at me to make sure it was ok with mom. I was fine with it, since we'd been chatting a while and he didn't mind.

His son wanted to move on before Elliot, and they started to wander off down the tracks. Elliot looked up and started to follow them. Then he looked back at me, said "I'm going with my dad." and started after them. I realize he still has no idea what that means, and that some other boy was calling this man "Dad," so that's who he must be, but it froze me in place for a few seconds.

I decided not to correct him or make a big deal out of it, but to see what he would do. He walked over to the man, said "Hi, Dad." and grinned.

As we walked through the museum, "Dad" talked about his role as an adoptive and foster parent, and what a surprise his son had been after 10 years of trying with his wife, and finally adopting 3 kids. He mentioned a recent trauma when his 3 older kids were talking about being adopted, and his 4 year old was in tears because he wasn't, and another when they had to give twins they had been fostering for 3 years back to an abusive family because of a court error.

Of the kinds of people Elliot might decide are father figures, he seemed of a high enough caliber to make any kid proud of his dad, but it sure did put a rough edge on missing piece of my heart.

I Built the Taj Mahal, one stitch at a time

2010-09-12T21:24:00.003-05:00

It's finally done, and I'm thrilled with the result. Now, if you are in the MN area on Friday, go to the LLF Fundraiser and buy it. It's worth every penny.

Not the Usual Topic

2010-09-06T19:57:00.003-05:00

I'm not exactly ashamed of my little knitting habit, but I don't go flaunting it either. My one night out every week since Karl died has been my "Knit Night." It's not really a stitch-n-bitch, because we're just not very bitchy people. But it's a great time, and one of my favorite parts of the week.

For the last year I've been working on my first lace design. It's been an on-again, off-again project, and I've struggled both with making the math work and all the patterns fit together, and making it truly feel like my own work. I'm using some patterns from a stitch dictionary, and it's taken me a while to come to terms with calling it "my" design. Really, tho, these historical designs are no different from the Italian techniques I happily borrow from in glass, or the traditional handle designs I use in clay - they are part of a sort of vocabulary of the craft, and can be borrowed, I think, freely. Particularly when used in a context and merged with other patterns.

So the design piece is nearly finished. It's not what the final pattern will look like, as I've tested various methods and modifications along the way, but it's still quite lovely. I'm so excited to have now made all the major design decisions and to be into the writing and testing phase.

Here's what it looks like so far:

Through Darkness, Through Time...

2010-09-03T01:03:00.008-05:00

Sometimes I'm afraid I'm doing everything wrong.

I was thinking tonight about how there's this hole in my heart where Karl was. Not that he's not in there, because, of course, he is, but there's a hole, too. A lot of you know what I'm talking about. Some of you don't. If not, know that you're lucky, and count yourself blessed.

So the hole, it's been there two years now, and it hasn't changed. I thought it got bigger and smaller, and hoped that in time it would shrink to a size that was almost unnoticeable, except maybe when it was poked. Whether it would shrink, or heal, or be somehow filled, I didn't know, but I thought it would change.

Two years. Still there. Same hole.

As I look back, I realize that it's not actually the hole, but my heart that changes. Some days it's bigger, making the hole less obvious in relation. Sometimes it's smaller, and the hole's almost the whole of it. Sometimes it's made of stronger stuff, and the walls don't cave in. Sometimes it's weak and everything crumbles endlessly, raw and bleeding...

I try to grow. I try to improve my fortitude, my emotional composition. I try to visualize and actualize a better me with a bigger, stronger heart. I try to confidently march forward, hole be damned, knowing that even when it's not ok, it will be...

But I still have days when I think I'm doing it all wrong. Days when I'm failing. Days when I'm shrinking. Days when I wonder if I have a thread left to hold on to.

There's something to be said for the link between creativity and the abyss - looking down into the darkness is daunting, but inspiring too.

I was lying in Elliot's bed waiting for him to fall asleep, and I was missing Karl, thinking of all the moments he's missed. I felt a failing in that my memory is so unreliable, I couldn't pull to the front any one moment with Karl, Elliot, and I together. I wanted so much to slip back in time to a happy instant, but they were elusive, slippery vapors I couldn't grasp.

Instead, suddenly I was high above the banks of the Mississippi with Karl and we'd met a young boy. Date night, August 2008. Nathanial, 4 years old, was holding Karl's hand, chatting, and walking back to the train tracks to get more rocks to throw down to the water. I know Karl was feeling Elliot's hand in his, hearing Elliot's voice from this little stranger's mouth.

Instead of bringing me back in time, my memories brought Karl forward.

Ajax, our black cat, sleeping beside the bed, began to snore contentedly.

Can't wait for Christmas...

2010-09-01T09:44:00.000-05:00

Last night, while Elliot was sleeping, I put down the play rug I'd taken up several months ago when I rearranged his room. It's a standard Ikea, drive your cars around on your knees kinda thing, and had been in front of his crib for a year.

I guess he didn't remember it.

When he woke up this morning, the first thing he said was "Wow! Look at that, Mommy! It's great! Come and see it when you wake up."

He waited about 30 seconds between rounds of, "Mommy, are you awake yet?" and, "Wake up, Mommy," till I finally came in to see this wonder that had appeared in the night.

"What is it?" I asked.

And he said, in an awed voice, like it was THE most wonderful thing ever, "It's a carpet...!"

Blog, interrupted

2010-08-27T21:53:00.000-05:00

I've been a little absent, I know. My internet was down for a week. I guess Charter really likes to get paid...

Anyway, made it through the 22nd. Once more around the sun, and still not a day goes by without at least a whisper of sadness in my heart. Some days the whisper's got a megaphone and it's yellin' into it. Shhh, I say. It'll be okay.

We were at the Lake of the Ozarks for the weekend, because Jet Ski does a body good. Elliot took his first ride, but I didn't take us out into the causeway - just idled around the cove. He's getting so much more aware of things, and able to express himself. He's solemnly informed me of several constants recently; "Red is on top, Green is on bottom." as we passed a stoplight, "I love getting wet." as he splashed in the reflection pool at mobot, and "You will get me juice. . . when you finish that row." when requesting a drink while I was knitting.

Back to another time around the sun - it was my birthday yesterday, and I had a great day. Mom and David had us over for french toast, then Jen and I went for pedicures, then Ted Drews, and finally I had a nice night with the knitted sisters. Tomorrow we celebrate with my dad's side of the family and my nephew, who shares the 26th (or, rather, stole it from me when I was 19) as his birthday too. It's 16 for him, and he celebrated with a tattoo.

I'm still going to make Elliot wait till he's 18, and my new rule is I can only get tattooed on Aug 22nds. So another year for me to fight the urge to collect tattoos, another year for me to fight the whisper and shout joy into the megaphone, another year to live, love, laugh, and generally follow bumper sticker philosophies.

Onward, little planet. Once again around the sun.

No Patience for Whiners

2010-08-15T22:04:00.000-05:00

I was on a chat tonight, and didn't say anything because I couldn't be nice. Everybody was like "Poor Me. My spouse died suddenly, and I'm angry." Or "Poor Me. I can't find anybody who understands me and I just Feel things so much!" Or "Poor Me. I have to raise my kids alone."

And I'm all like, "Really? You're going to complain to a chatroom full of widows that you're a WIDOW? Not asking for help, not looking for ideas, not trying to improve your life, but just whining? And wanting *hugs* and ((awww)) and 'I'm so sorry.' REALLY?"

My husband didn't get to see his son walk or hear his beautiful voice, but I'm grateful every day that he got to be a dad before he died. I don't have to raise my son alone, I get to have a strong and joyful bond with him because I'm his only parent - I'm one of a kind! I can't find anybody who "gets" me either, but it took me 30 years to find Karl. Am I really going to find somebody equally worthy in under 2? Don't think it likely.

The people who are happy in the world choose to be happy. I saw a great bumper sticker the other day - "Life is not about finding a way to avoid the storms. It's about learning to dance in the rain."

So quit whining and dance, dammit.

A Real Change...

2010-08-12T22:42:00.000-05:00

A couple weeks ago I went in for an oil change, tire rotation, and "courtesy check" on my car. A few friends had pointed out some cracks in the sidewall of my front passenger tire, and I thought I'd have it checked. At the service station, they gave me back a sheet that said everything checked out fine, so I figured it was an expense that could wait.

Wrong, of course.

On my way home from Knitting tonight, I suddenly had a very loud front end. It turns out nobody at Skinker and Delmar is interested in helping a well dressed white girl change her tire, but they do enjoy the show. I got a lot of stares as I bounced on the tire iron (in wedges, mind you), and a round of applause with a "You go, Nascar!" from a passing man and his son.

I've changed more tires than I can remember, on at least 5 different vehicles, so it was really no big deal, but this was the first time since my "girly girl" style kicked in. It is a bit more daunting in a beaded top, white button down, and pedal pusher slacks than my old jeans and tees, but I managed well. I even had wipes in the car, so my hands were clean and fresh moments after the last lug nut was wrenched back down.

Post change - note, white shirt: still white!

Tomorrow I plan to drive my little doughnut back in to the station and express my disappointment in their "courtesy" check, but really I will likely just meekly ask for a new tire. Which is what I should have done all along.

Little Moments, Little Memories

2010-08-10T17:22:00.000-05:00

We had such a great weekend with the Kopitske crew in MN, I can't really describe it all. It would take pages and pages, and hours to write. So I'll recap, not necessarily chronologically. Photos can be found at flickr.

The first moment that pops into my mind as I think about the trip was fairly private. It wasn't anything I shared with the family at the time, because I may have broken down.

I was sitting downstairs with Elliot and his cousin Jake, and Karl's brother Andy (Jake's dad) walked by. Jake said "Hey Dad."

Elliot looked up, looked at Jake, looked back at Andy, and said (very quietly, like trying it on) "Hey, Dad."

Deep breath, and moving on.

**

I was so proud of Elliot as he and Michael walked down the aisle with their little ring pillows, both wearing black tuxes and serious, weighty expressions. Not grumpy, just very focused.

Had we bribed them? Of course. But when it came down to it, Elliot didn't want the promised chocolate when he got to my seat. Instead, he wanted juice, which, of course, I didn't have. So we caused only a minor disruption as we sneaked out the side and went off in search of the reward he wanted.

**

I rode up with my friend Amber, who was in an art fair in MN. I was very touched that her mother had sent along a treat bag for Elliot - 3 beanie babies, 2 toy cars, and several age appropriate snacks. Nothing thrills a kid as much as new toys (except, of course, the packaging they came in) and El spent nearly half of the 10 hour drive happily playing with those surprise gifts.

**

Elliot spent a few hours Sunday afternoon without me hovering, as my brother in law insisted that I get a little time to myself to go see my friend's booth at the art fair. My niece and I headed out for an afternoon of heat, humidity, art and smoothies, and Elliot played happily with his Kopitske relations. I like to think it's a good sign that he never minds me leaving him as long as I stick to the routine - tell him where I'm going, that I'll be back, and give him a bye-bye kiss.

**

We borrowed my niece's car to go back and forth to our hotel at night, and as we got out the first night, Elliot looked at it and said, "It's not mommy's car. It's a rental car." I loved that he remembered the car we drove in Boston was called a 'rental' and so this must be one too.

**

One of Elliot's two meltdowns happened while trying on the tuxes Thursday. He didn't want to take off his shiny shoes. He did want to take off his underwear. In front of the public mirror, with the sales girls watching. And yes, I have pictures. And if he's not very nice to me, I will show them to his first girlfriend.

**

Throughout the weekend, he played well with his cousins, shared food and toys, listened and cooperated, and generally made me feel like I was doing things right*. He slow danced with the bride. He gave hugs and kisses to his aunts, uncles, and cousins. He continues to be the greatest source of joy in the world for me, and I'm grateful for him every day. watching him with his father's side of the family, it's easy to see where so much of his buoyant, enthusiastic personality comes from. I'm not saying it's all Kopitske, but they sure do have blessings in spades.

*with one notable exception

Saying Farewell to the Curls...

2010-08-10T17:11:00.000-05:00

I like to think it's not goodbye, but only a temporary parting. As Elliot had a role in his cousin's wedding this past weekend, I decided the wild child curls had to go.

So Tuesday last, we went in for Elliot's first non-home haircut.

He went in like this:

and came out like this:

And here's a shot in the middle:

*the one notable exception

2010-08-10T16:30:00.000-05:00

We had one major meltdown on the trip. Sunday morning when we got to Phil's house, Elliot wanted to go out and play by the pool. Everybody was trying to enjoy some family togetherness and adult conversation, so he was told he'd have to wait a bit. I offered him breakfast, which he refused. He's two. He refuses everything the first time. Unfortunately, his little foibles are not well known to the whole family, and Phil tried to carry him and his banana to the table.

Elliot does not tolerate being physically moved. It's kinda funny, because I once had a huge argument with a then boyfriend because he (gently) moved me aside as he was coming through the room with a box or something. I lost it, and went on for hours about not being part of the furniture, and demanding that I be spoken to, not shoved about... So maybe I'm a little too tolerant of Elliot's behavior, but whatever the reason, he too lost it when Phil moved him.

First I ignored him, hoping he'd come around. Usually this works at home, but with a bigger audience, he was digging his heels in a bit. 5 minutes in, half my in-laws had left the table for quieter parts of the house. Feeling guilty, and a bit of a failure already, I took him into the other room for a little time out.

Instead of calming down, he escalated. He began the "NoMommyNoMommyNoMommy" chant, and tried to squirm off of my lap. At home, my rule is he cannot come out of time out until he is calm, and he wasn't getting calmer. as he screamed at me, I questioned myself, my parenting, my patience, my decision not to spank... I held him gently and occasionally reminded him, calmly, that he would not get down until he stopped yelling.

Finally, half an hour after the initial screams, he took a deep breath and collapsed on my shoulder. He gave me a hug, then slid off my lap. As he crawled up on the couch beside me, Uncle Phil came in and said "Let's go outside and play!"

I shot him a disapproving look, and he said "No? I thought maybe that would end it." While it was true that it would end it, I felt like it was both too soon after the bad behavior for a reward, and also that I had just had a miserable time, and I should get to have fun with him and re-establish our happy relationship before he was whisked away.

"Oh. I see. You need to win." Phil said.

My stomach hit the floor, and my eyes welled up, but I managed to say, "It's not about winning, it's about establishing patterns of behavior. If he cries and throws fits, and gets rewarded, he will cry more and throw more fits... but you've offered, and he's calm, so go ahead."

Phil is so much like Karl. I don't know if it was what he said, or that I heard Karl saying the same thing in my head, but suddenly I felt mean and small and ineffective. I KNOW I'm not - I know I'm a good mom and Elliot and I have a strong bond, but in that moment I questioned everything. They were barely out the door when I started sobbing, and retreated to the bathroom.
When I finally emerged from hiding, it wasn’t to looks of accusation or annoyance from my family, but sympathy and understanding. Elliot is the youngest of 12 grandkids, and my sisters-in-law reassured me that they had all been there, and that this is hard. Being the mom means you’re often the bad guy, even when (or maybe especially when?) dad is in the picture.
My brother in law, the only man there to defend his gender, simply said this:
“Yeah, but when they win the super bowl, who do they say hi to?”
That’s the truth.

Exhausted

2010-08-03T23:04:00.000-05:00

I can't even tell you why i'm so tired, but I don't have the energy to get Elliot to bed, so he's running around at 11PM, playing with the dog and generally causing mayhem.

And I'm not yet packed for the trip tomorrow, tho I am nearly packed, so that's something.

I just want to go to sleep, but I have to get a little more done first. So I'll now get the eff off the computer and get 'er done.

Numbers Game

2010-08-02T18:03:00.000-05:00

So far, dating kinda sucks
but at least i have this to come home to:

The whole dating widowed mom thing is going to take some figuring out. It seems I'm in a "vulnerable place" (which, really, i think, means "upfront about not likely to put out") right now, and so I don't merit a third date to my recent second date, who had been my first second date since Karl died. The date was preceded by my third first date, the first to leave me actually feeling I might be ready to deal with dating at all.

He was intelligent and articulate, and seemed willing to talk about things in a straightforward way. I really enjoyed talking to him, and when the topic of whether or not I was "ready to date" came up, I explained that I felt very ready to date, but would have to know my partner well and have a pretty trusting relationship before I would be comfortable with physical intimacy.

In theory, when we talked about it, he was all for the idea of getting to know each other, hanging out, going slow. In practice, he walked me back to my car after dinner and tried to talk me into going home with him.

I refused, as politely and gently as I could.

The next day, I got a the "You're vulnerable, i don't want you to get hurt. We shouldn't date right now" message.

Yeah. Two dates + no nookie = i have a vulnerability problem? If you don't even know somebody's last name yet you probably shouldn't sleep with them - widowed or no.

Buy hey, two dates! That's twice as many as the last guy, and if I can just double the numbers every other time, eventually I'll find something long term, right?

So, who wants to set me up with somebody looking for a 4 date romance?

I Make You Happy!

2010-07-23T16:51:00.000-05:00

Elliot and I have been talking about happy and sad lately. I've tried to explain that when he takes toys away from the dog, it makes him sad, but when he throws a ball for the dog, it makes him happy. When he's grumpy and tells me "no!" it makes me sad, but when he hugs me and says, "please" it makes me happy. Typical parent stuff, yeah.

So the other day I had left him to color in his new coloring book while I did some stuff around the house. He was at his train table, home to many toys and blocks, among them his favorite set of alphabet blocks, which are embossed colored letters on a light wood background.

Or at least they were.

After leaving him alone for about 20 minutes, I returned to the table to find him very hard at work:

The blocks no longer have light backgrounds. They now all have orange backgrounds, some messier than others. As I looked down at his very precise and thorough job of altering his toys, I couldn't help but laugh a little, despite having clearly communicated the rule: we only draw on paper, nothing else. This was not paper. . . But before I could put on my stern mommy face, he looked up can caught me smiling.

His face lit up, and grinning, he said, "I make you happy!"

He threw his arms open for a hug, and what could I do? "Yes," I said, "you make me very happy."

After making him help clean up the marker that had strayed on the tabletop and his non-alphabet blocks, I reminded him again of the rule: we only draw on paper and letter blocks. Nothing else.

No Escape from Reality

2010-07-17T20:38:00.000-05:00

Recently I've been watching an old BBC series on Netflix. I got into it because it was sweet and quaint and charming, and tho I didn't like all the characters, I did enjoy the stories.

Part of the ongoing story carried from one episode to the next was the love interest between the two primary characters. Because I don't want to turn anybody onto or off the series, I'm not going to give details, but let's say it was one of those romances that seemed impossible due to the other commitments in the characters' lives.

So three seasons in (I've been watching every few nights when Elliot goes to bed early), they finally get their priorities straight and decide Love Conquers All. He finally, poetically, passionately declares that he loves her.

She is then unceremoniously and unexpectedly killed.

...

(this is not what i signed up for)

...

After scanning episodes on IMDB, it seems the show gets into a habit of killing people off, so I will not be watching it anymore. In the meantime, I'm trying to rewrite the last episode in my head, and reminding myself that these are not people, they are characters. Their fate was determined by the whim of the writers, and could as easily have been different.

In my mind now, I've written off the last scenes as a bad dream, one which the lead awakes from and is finally ready to face life head on, trust his feelings, etc. and they walk hand in hand off into the sunset.

Because really, it pisses me off when people mix their tragedy drama in with my escapism. Not, mind you, as bad as all that, but bad enough.

Maybe I need to stick to positive thinking in the real world, since the media seems determined to disappoint me.

Toy Story 3

2010-07-16T17:03:00.000-05:00

We went out for a movie today, Elliot's first big screen since he's been old enough to appreciate movies. We intended to see the 3D version, but missed the start time and ended up a little flat...
but as with the first two movies, TS3 was enjoyable even without the added effects.

The show starts with our toy heroes in trouble, and there's a moment when all seems lost. What will become of our hero?? On the screen, everything goes quiet... and into the quiet, a little voice said, breathlessly, "Ooooh no!" Elliot was enthralled.

He enjoyed the movie, but was a little scared at some of the more dramatic moments, and after the big climax (but before the denouement) he said "Ok. Let's go home." As all the loose strings were being wrapped up, and everybody was sniffling into their hankies, Elliot tried his best to make a getaway. I convinced him to sit with me a few more minutes...

Sadly, once it was actually over he didn't want to leave and had to be carried out sobbing. He promptly fell asleep in the car, and is napping still. Overall, we had a great time, and I'd recommend the movie to anybody, but do be prepared for a little nail biting and lap sitting, and a few whispered reassurances that "it's ok. it's just a monkey."

Hardware vs. Software

2010-07-16T01:49:00.000-05:00

I got lost tonight. I do that a lot.

Sometimes i get mad at myself, sometimes at people I'm supposed to be meeting somewhere or another. It isn't that I haven't been there before, or that nobody told me where it was. It's that I don't find my way well. Something in my brain doesn't click like other people's. I can come to an intersection I go through several times a week, and once in a while I turn the wrong way.

I've tried to improve, but haven't found a way to make it better, other than a GPS. Sadly, my skills at keeping a charge on the GPS are similar to my directional skills - i.e. bad.

Fortunately, I also got found. After some confusion and a little frustration, I found myself at karaoke, forced into Love Shack before I'd even set down my purse. The nice thing is once you've made a fool of yourself with the B52s, you can take on anything.

Well, except maybe the GoGos. I didn't rock Vacation despite heavy coaching from friends. I do try to shy away from the country tunes due to the social stigma... but I got a bit of good advice "Sing what you can sing." So I did, and had a great time.

My karaoke regulars are about to get married and leave town, so I'm a little down, but perhaps I'll find the inner strength to go without them. After all, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and I did survive Love Shack, right?

Actually, I hate that saying, but admit that sometimes it's true.

So here's to strength, and embracing a challenge, now off to bed before my morning of sleeping in (Mom's got Ellioe tonight) gets completely wasted by my online addiction.

Put it out to the universe...

2010-07-12T18:08:00.000-05:00

I didn't want to cook tonight. Karl used to cook for me almost every night. Rarely did I have to so much as lift a finger, and there was food - usually very tasty food - set before me. The past two years I've gotten better at fending for myself in the kitchen, but it will never be a passion, and I was thinking about the unfairness of it all. And of course then there would be cleaning up to do.

In my self pitying state, I asked the cat to make us dinner, and he only stared blankly back. The dog seemed no more motivated. Since Elliot's not allowed to touch the stove, I didn't ask him, because I imagine I would have gotten an enthusiastic response, then have had to squash his excitement...

Checking my phone messages while noshing on crackers and salsa, I realized that long distance repeat caller I'd been ignoring was actually a friend of my parents. I called them to pass along the message, and got an invite to go out to dinner.

No cooking, no cleaning up.

I do love it when the universe is listening.

reaching out

2010-07-10T01:14:00.000-05:00

i'm feeling my way in the dark
my fingertips tracing your form
on the rough walls
on the cold bars
on the moist pillow
beside my head

i'm feeling my way through the dark
breathing slow

allowing
the smothering embrace
of memory
of loss
of despair

allowing
a moment
not to rise
not to fight
not to dream

i'm feeling my way
but it's dark
tonight
and my fingertips
hide from light

Glosta, Salem, and Stonhenge - Vacation Part 2

2010-07-02T10:46:00.000-05:00

So. Saturday morning, after a mostly sleepless night, we were up and at 'em, and off to the reception. I didn't take pictures because we were too busy having a nice time swimming, chasing a ball down a rocky slope, and generally eating too much. I will try to post the video of the happy couple going down the water slides together when I get a free minute.

Elliot still wasn't feeling too swell, so all too soon we headed back to the motel for some down time. We took a little walk around the grounds, where he convinced grandma that he had the power to turn the rain on and off with pure strength of will. I'm not sure he's not right...

Sunday we hung out with Jeff and Kelly in the AM, exploring Gloucester's shopping district and being sold the idea of moving to the NE coast. I'm sure Jeff was entirely honest in telling us it's actually quite balmy in the winter and hardly ever snows. Something about being by the ocean, and warm currents. I remain somewhat skeptical...

My brother took the train up and met us around lunch time, and we had a lovely Italian feast, then headed down to the harbor for the annual Greasy Pole competition. That's a telephone pole stuck on a big tower out in the water, liberally greased with environmentally friendly slippery stuff. Men in homemade costumes try to reach a flag at the end. It took 3 rounds for somebody to make it, and he was half way off the post when he managed to hook it with his elbow. Good times.

The locals take Fiesta quite seriously. I think only the cat in the hat has finer headwear. Most of the observers actually weren't so dressed up, but they clearly were enjoying themselves tremendously.

After the greasy pole ended we took Josh back to the train station, and after wandering around completely lost for a while; i mean, after taking a scenic tour of the island, we headed back to the motel. Elliot seemed in much better spirits, so I decided to head in to Somerville to visit some college friends. Mom said Elliot was doing great, so I didn't wander back till late morning, after a very tasty breakfast at the local grape-arbor covered courtyard restaurant.

I picked up Mom and E, and headed for Salem, MA to see Witch Town, USA. Mom and I both had some misgivings about the emotional toll of rehashing murders, but it did look interesting and neither of us had ever been. It turned out we had a great lunch at a little Indian place, then toured the town, which was charming and historic. While the witches were mentioned, we didn't have to suffer through any gruesome retellings of the trials, or tours of dungeons, or haunted anything.

It was hot and muggy, so after the tour we went back to my brother and sister in law's place. We hung out with their family (birds and bunny :) for a bit, then back to the motel for some much needed rest.

Tuesday we had a late flight scheduled, so we headed to the Gloucester beach for a while. Elliot enjoyed throwing the rocks more than walking on them.

I enjoyed seeing how many different kinds of rocks in how many colors and patterns I could find.

After a little over an hour playing at the beach Elliot was worn out again, so we hit the road and started north back to Manchester airport. As we crossed the NH border we stopped at the info station and found a brochure for a place calling itself "America's Stonehenge." It sounded a little hokey, but also historic. And it had alpacas. Seemed like the perfect way to burn our last two hours in the NE.

Mom had a little flashlight along, and Elliot explored all the shadowy places. The weather was not too hot, and the woods were lovely. We had a nice time.

I'm still not sure why the alpaca were there, but this one was so ugly he was cute, or so cute he was disconcerting. I'm not sure what it was about him, but I was completely charmed.

Two flights and 8 hours later we were home. I can't say I'm a fan of the midnight arrival in the airport, but at least it wasn't crowded. Sad to report the cleaning fairies did not visit while I was gone, so the house remains a disaster, but I'm working on reclaiming it. And catching up on some sleep.

Next adventure? Fireworks.

Gloucester, er, Glosta... Part 1

2010-06-30T13:30:00.001-05:00

Wow. It was quite a trip, and I don't even know where to start. So why not start at the beginning?

Thursday we got up early. Very early. We flew out, connected somewhere (i don't remember where), and arrived in Manchester around 12:00. We were all pretty tired.

It took an hour to get our car, and between stopping for potty breaks, food, and bad iPhone navigation, it took another few to get to Gloucester.

We settled in at the motel and soon Jeff and Kelly were there to take us off to the Fiesta. We rode rides and ate cotton candy and fried dough, then walked along to the Big Fisherman statue.

I know it has a better, more romantic name for real, but I don't remember it, so there ya go.

It was starting to rain as we headed back to the car, and after a mild soaking we were back at the hotel for a good night's sleep.

In the morning, Elliot woke up chipper and ready for fun. He ran in circles on the front porch for a half hour till everybody got to the condo.

Then we headed out for food and shopping in Rockport, home of many colored fishing floats, quaint rowboats, ice cream, and pirate ships.

We had a lovely day overall, but Elliot was a little off his normally charming game. I couldn't talk him into having ice cream with us, and he really wanted to be carried everywhere. When we got back to the motel, he was running a bit of a fever, so once everybody had headed back home, I sent mom out for Tylenol.

You might notice a decided lack of photos at this point. That's because after Mom left, Elliot went downhill fast, and soon my hands were full of vomit. This was his first big boy puke, so he was pretty freaked out. I was a little wide eyed myself as I sat staring in the sink trying to remember and/or identify the food he had had that day.

He ran a high fever most of the night, but fortunately didn't have anything else come back up. He remained out of sorts with on again, off again fever for the rest of the trip.

Defining a Family...

2010-06-17T22:26:00.000-05:00

We went to the botanical gardens today, one of my favorite places in STL. We were sitting with the sheep and I was telling Elliot about their family structure:

There on the left are 3 ewes, which I explained were the mommy sheep. In the center were two lambs, which I told him were the baby sheep. He didn't have a problem with three mommies having two babies, but when I told him the one with the horns was the daddy sheep, he looked at me like I was crazy.

"That's not a daddy. It's a mommy." He was adamant.

That's when I realized that, despite the fact that he can recognize Karl in photos and videos, he has no idea what a father is. He's only just starting to realize there are two genders, but it wasn't about that. His own father is a character in a story, and these were concrete (literally) things. A little thing is a baby. The big thing that cares for it is it's mommy. That is how the world works.

It's something time will change. As he gets older I'm sure he'll come to a better understanding, but it will be a process, not an epiphany. When I think about it, my own understanding isn't necessarily any clearer - if anything knowing more means there's more not to understand...

So I didn't try to go into details; we just moved on to the lake. There were tadpoles swimming in the shallows.

"Those are baby frogs," I told him.

"Those aren't frogs," he replied, with certainty. "Those are fishies." He grinned and darted off to run across the big stone bridge.

So much to learn in such a strange and surprising world. I'm so lucky I get to be his teacher.

Recipe....?

2010-06-09T17:03:00.000-05:00

So, I can follow a recipe, but it doesn't mean I can cook. Looking at a few recipes online, then improvising a version of the dish based on what you have in the kitchen isn't always successful, but isn't necessarily a disaster either, and sometimes it's both.

I bought peppers last time we were at the store. I never buy them because I never use them, but Karl used to make stuffed peppers and I loved them both out of the oven and as leftovers. Well, why not give it a shot?

I did a little research, then without printing a thing headed into the kitchen. I cooked up some rice with a little salt and butter, sauteed some onions and celery, scooped up some peppers, stuffed, and cooked. The results: pretty, but bland and a little gummy. Sigh.

I ate enough to make myself feel that it wasn't a total waste, offered Elliot some, which he picked at then fell asleep eating (did I mention it's blandness?), and tossed the rest in a plastic bag in the fridge.

I have been trying to do two things - eat more veggies and throw away less food - so I couldn't just get rid of it, but what to do? Sauces didn't seem the thing, but then I had an inspiration. I could do a stir fry, thus giving a chance to put flavor in and redeem myself.

Chopped up the remaining peppers, rice and all, into little bitesize bits. Tossed in skillet with hot oil and soy sauce. Threw in leftover peas from 2 nights ago. Stirred. Fried. Tasted...

I thought it was a huge improvement! I got out the chopsticks and devoured a bowl.

Elliot stuck his tongue on the fork, gagged, and refused to swallow more than one small bite.

And that was tonight's dinner at Circle K.

So, anybody got a good recipe for stuffed peppers?

History Lesson

2010-05-28T16:33:00.001-05:00

Elliot and I went out for a bit with mom today, and as we were pulling up to the house there was a car parked crooked next to the tree on Osceola. We walked toward the house, and as we did three little old ladies slowly extracted themselves from the car and waved us down. "Can we talk to you for a minute? Are you the owners?"

I wondered if they were going to complain about the miserable state of my sidewalks or perhaps bring me to Jesus, but as it turned out, they just wanted take a little walk down the long road of memory.

The ladies were Sisters of the Sacred Heart; nuns, I guess. They were all three in their 80s, and one had been born in my house. She looked at the front hill, and said "Oh, that hill used to be so big! I remember it was such a big deal, that hill!" She was obviously delighted to just look at the front yard, so I invited them inside to see the house as it stands today.

Her family were the first owners, and she had lived here until she left at 21. When she walked up on the porch, she commented that it, too, was much larger in her memory, but that it was still lovely. I made my usual excuses about the puppy and toddler - that the house was a disaster, but they were welcome to come in if they liked. "Oh, I remember this room..." she sighed, walking in to the front living/dining room. Her friend said "Yes! We used to have dinner right there," pointing to my dining room table. It seems they had been friends in religious school, and have been together most of their lives.

"You have your piano just where ours was. I used to play..." She was beaming as she slowly made her way toward the back of the house. "I was born right there in the back room," she said, "Back when babies were born in houses." The same room, in fact, where Karl died.

She told me her mother was often ill during pregnancy, and the room that is now Elliot's housed the live in nurse. The children slept upstairs, or out on the screen porch when it was very hot.

It makes me even more attached to the house, knowing it has seen not only my son's first steps and words, but also the birth and childhood of this woman.

"I remember those stairs - they led down to the coal chute. And out back we had a cherry tree and a peach tree, as you headed out to the garage." So the back porch and garage were original to the house, or at least very early additions. She wasn't surprised my car wouldn't fit in the garage, it was small even for the time it was built. She pointed out a few more things to her friends, and began to walk back toward the front.

They didn't stay long, and only referred to themselves collectively as "Sisters of the Sacred Heart" both times I introduced myself. Still, I felt very warm towards them, and wish they had given me their names, but I didn't want to push. In a way, not knowing their names made them seem almost ghosts passing through. . . Not the scary creepy kind, but more like benevolent spirits of ancestors past.

I went to let Elliot go outside with Grandma, where she was holding the dog at bay so he didn't knock down any of these frail creatures in his enthusiasm to greet. When I returned, they were studying a family photo on the piano. I explained that it was my husband's family at his parents' 50th wedding anniversary, and that Karl had passed away nearly two years ago. I didn't mention that it happened here, and they didn't ask for details, simply expressed appropriate sympathies, then made their goodbyes.

Passing back through the front door, they promised to pray for me, but cheerfully more than pitifully. I appreciate that as much as anything; that they were clearly joyful people, and we were all delighted to share a little look into the early years of the house that is my home.

Bad Dog.

2010-05-26T16:48:00.000-05:00

I own one bra I really like. My dog just destroyed it, and didn't have the decency to leave the tag. I don't know who made it or where I bought it. I am now very sad, and going underwear shopping tomorrow. I take back all the good things I said about the darned mutt. Grrr.

What If?

2010-05-21T01:16:00.000-05:00

This weekend Karl would have turned 37. I found myself thinking about what we would be doing if he were here. Just before he turned 35, he joked with me that he was already 40, really, because anything over 30 was old. I could tell, tho, that it did bother him a little that now his age would actually round up rather than down.

Of course, as it turned out he didn't make it to 40, so never had to cross that bridge. Alas.

Anyway, thinking about the what ifs always leads me to the same thing, and it's something that continues to eat at me. Tonight I think I realized why.

Most of the "what if" scenarios that come into my mind are so abstract as to be meaningless - if I'd been home, if he'd had to pick Elliot up, if everybody hadn't been out of town, if he'd stayed in Hermann, if he'd not been such a heavy drinker, if his mom had been younger when he was born, if i'd called my mom after we talked... seriously, I've considered a million possibilities that might have changed things, but none are what should have happened, only what might have.

But the one that really gets me is different - a mar in the smooth surface of understanding. Tonight I realized it's because it isn't a "What if?" as much as it is an unknown - a "What happened?"

I don't blame anyone for Karl's death. It happened, and it's crap that it did, but I don't feel like it's somebody's fault.

Except maybe I do. I think there was one person who might have, and possibly should have, prevented it. What I don't know is what, if anything, actually happened between them that day. There are people I could ask, but I risk burning bridges, because I don't know how to ask without sounding accusatory.

I can still hear him in my mind, and the words are clear: "I talked to the school nurse before I left, and she assured me I wasn't having a heart attack."

But he was, and he did, and he died.

How do I let that go? It's so impossible, because I knew Karl, and it's equally likely that he convinced her that he was fine, as she convinced him. Or that he withheld symptoms. Or that he didn't really talk to her but knew what I would need to hear to feel like he was ok. Or that she suggested he call his doctor, but he heard "call him sometime" when she meant "call him NOW."

Or any number of things that might have passed between them.

But I don't know, because nobody has ever told me anything, and I'm afraid to ask because at the moment, I'm not angry. But what if I did ask? Maybe it's just a thin veneer of calm. Maybe it's chaos underneath, and so I'm afraid to scratch at it, to reveal the real structure of my understanding. Still, here I am picking at it; bothering, stirring...

I still wish I would wake up and he would be here, and it would all be a bad dream. In the past 18 months I've learned so much and grown so much, and I have an amazing life, but it's such awful price to have paid.

I think my life is bigger now, but so too is the hole he left. They grow together - the wonder and beauty in my life magnify his absence, because he should be here to share them.

If only...

Good Dog. Good Dog?

2010-05-19T15:45:00.000-05:00

Finley Kopitske - June 22, 2009

Today's been really nice. We went and had Lunch with Grandma, and toured the renovation madness in the kitchen. Afterwords, Elliot and I hit Tower Grove and walked for a while. When I got home it was time to get to work, so we cleared the sticks and poop from the back yard and mowed it. I've been building an unintentional compost pile in the back of the yard for almost a year, and I finally cleared that, too.

Fin and El were happy to help out. I'm slowly trusting them both more - Elliot was allowed to come down the alley with me to dump the yard waste, and we left the gate open, giving Fin a "stay" command and seeing how it held.

It worked great for a while, till somebody came by the alley entrance and passed close to us. Then, barking and charging, Our Hero rushed out to save us. As the nice old lady nearly pooped herself, I called Fin back, and he spun on a dime and returned to my side. "Back in the Yard!" I said, and back in the yard he went.

It's so strange because every other dog I've owned has been a runner. Given an open gate and no leash, I may or may not ever have seen them again.

Fin is different. He wants to be my dog, and be wherever I am. It's actually really cool, except sometimes when it isn't.

I left him in the back yard while I mowed the front. I could hear him barking, but shouted a reassurance now and then and figured he was fine. We've done this every time I've mowed, so what could happen?

Well, jumping the fence, it seems. In his determination not to be separated from me, he managed to get out of the yard. I'd just shut off the mower and was giving Elliot a piggy-back ride back to the house when Fin came prancing up, tongue lolling, as close to a big, goofy, proud smile on his face as a dog can get. So all three of us and the mower headed around the side and back into the yard.

Tomorrow I'll be heading to Lowes to check out trellis that I might be able to nail to the fence to extend it a few feet. In the meantime, don't walk down my sidewalk looking threatening while Fin's out back, ok?

Fin - Today @ 4:00

Five-twentythree.

2010-05-12T19:19:00.000-05:00

For some reason I've always thought of Karls birthday in numbers. I know my own is August 26, my brother's October 20, the few birthdays I know, in fact, I think of as a month and a day... except Karl's. As long as I knew his birthday, I knew it as 5/23.

It's a day that's coming soon, and I thought I should share some thoughts. I'm organizing a little get together (or a big one - who knows? maybe organizing isn't the right word) in honor of Karl. It means some planning and come cleaning, and a little stress, but it's worth anything to get Karl's collection together in one place. If you knew him and spent birthdays with him in the past, I hope you'll be able to come. We'll have brunch at Circle K Sunday, and likely some sort of get together Saturday afternoon/evening. Details to follow.

There is another date that may draw people together, and it's not too far off either. That one, August 22, has an inescapable sorrow, so I plan to let it be more subdued, and more personal. Last year I planned my own day of remembrance, and invited others to participate as they wished. This year will likely be similar.

But his birthday, I hope, will stir happier memories. There's a hundred stories I hope Elliot will know by heart, and be heartily sick of by the time he's a sulky teen, but deeply appreciative of as an adult. He won't know them if you don't come tell them. There's even more that he probably shouldn't ever hear, but still I hope he'll want to.

I want everybody together, remembering Karl the way he was happiest and most alive - in a crowd of family and friends. I think he would prefer to look down on us laughing together. Not, of course, that he would want us crying alone, but I think we share our grief better in small groups, in quiet moments, through our writing, or by any means we each find to hold on and let go at the same time.

So please join me for official or unofficial time together next weekend. Let's remember him laughing so hard at his own joke that nobody else could understand what he was saying, remember him falling asleep in the bamboo, remember the mad Scotsman, the exuberant storyteller, the brilliant teacher, the loving and devoted friend and father...

When you think of him, on 5/23 or any other time, please indulge me in remembering him at his best and brightest, lighting up every heart in the room, and let that glow illuminate the darkness of his absence.

Finding Myself

2010-05-10T22:18:00.001-05:00

It wasn't that long ago that I was a completely different person. I wasn't somebody's mother, and I'd never been anybody's wife. I had lots of ideas about different directions I might want to take my life - extended travels, artistic endeavors, goals, dreams - all that stuff.

When people talk about the formative years of life, often they are referring to youth; in the teenage and young adult years we become the people we will be for the rest of our lives. That's the theory, anyway...

For me, looking back as long as I can remember I knew who I was. I didn't always know the details about what I would do next, big picture or little picture, but I felt solid in myself. Despite rarely being in relationships and often being out of touch with friends, I never felt like there was a hole in my life.

Then, just before I turned 30, I met Karl. In 3 short, incredibly formative years, I became a completely different person. I still had the same confidence, the same foundation, but I was more than who I had been. I had a husband and a child - I had become part of somebody else, and also put a little part of myself out into the world.

Then, of course, everything changed.

Now, for the first time, I find myself not just missing Karl, but missing being in a relationship. I'm also struggling to find ways to be more social - I didn't just lose Karl, but also his constant social events. Where once a weekend wouldn't go by without us seeing some of "The Gang," now weeks will pass with only phone calls now and then.

I'm not lonely, exactly. I have the best company in the world in Elliot, who's more and more charming with every new phrase. I'm just not quite who I want to be right now. I'm alone too much, and the ways I'm trying to change that (joining the Y, training for the 5K, spending more time at the studio) aren't really filling the gap.

I used to think when people weren't happy outside of a relationship it was because they didn't like themselves enough. Now I know that's crap. While it might be true for some people, I like myself plenty, and right now my single status is starting to grate.

So.

I don't know what there is to gain by putting it out there, but there it is. There's this darkness inside me, the inky fear that I'll never find anybody to share this amazing life with. The fear that nobody will understand me, that nobody will want me.

Perhaps it is better to have loved and lost (certainly if it results in somebody as amazing as my son!) but it's not just love that is lost, but also, I don't know how to put it... faith? hope? Neither is right, because I have both, but there's another thing - something related to those two, and it's tarnished inside me. It used to glow so bright I didn't even know it was there... now it's pale, dim, flickering..

Here I am tonight, looking for me. Looking specifically for the part of me that was the whole me, back before I was blended and torn, woven and frayed... loved, and lost.

Taking Pause

2010-05-08T22:53:00.000-05:00

Tonight Elliot went to bed early, and I found myself with a few free hours. Instead of cleaning or being productive, I decided to catch up on some television.

I love Hulu. The short breaks are great, because I don't like waiting to see what happens next. When I read, I tend to go cover to cover, no matter if I like the book or not, I can't stop. It's just not how my brain works. It's a kind of tunnel vision...

Tonight, tho, Hulu wasn't satisfying my need for instant gratification. The connection wasn't good, and I kept having to pause and let the buffer catch up. It reminded me a lot of watching movies with Karl, and I wondered if maybe he was somewhere tampering with the signals, just to watch me cringe.

We'd put in a movie, and ten or fifteen minutes in, he'd hit the pause. Not because he needed anything - not to make another drink or go to the bathroom. Not to ask about what just happened. Not for any reason I could understand other than that it drove me up the wall. He'd go on about how nice it was to just pause sometimes - like commercial breaks on the old movie of the week growing up. "But it's a DVD," I'd protest, "The director and editors spent all this time working on the pace of the movie, fine tuning just how long each scene should be.... can't we just watch it?" And he'd hit play, and let it go another few minutes, and then maybe he would need another drink...

They say when you lose somebody you love, you miss everything about them - even the things that once drove you nuts. I think they are full of crap. Those things that annoyed me - the ones he still seems able to manifest somehow, they do make me nostalgic. They do make me think of him, and remember how much I loved him despite the pauses.

But seriously, Karl, cut it out. Stick with making the flowers bloom - that reminds me of you too, in a much better way.

Building a Better Monster

2010-05-06T22:31:00.000-05:00

This afternoon Elliot went into the front closet and came out with Karl's blue box of legos. This wasn't the regular ones, but the gears and wheels set, and so we made cars. "Make another one," he kept telling me, holding out another gear or wheel for me to use. We had a very low block to gear ratio, so the cars are pretty minimalist, but here's what we made:

He's not to the point yet where he's going to be designing and building on his own, but I think he grasped well the awesomeness of Lego, and for that I'm proud, and I know Karl is smiling. We'll no doubt be searching out the other hidden Lego stashes for further building over the next few weeks.

I have no memory of this blade...

2010-04-30T23:13:00.001-05:00

I was preparing to hide out in the basement (again) from the approaching storms, and digging through the kitchen drawers looking for spare batteries for the torch, and came across this.

It's got runes on it, and lives in a little belt sheath. It's heavily waxed, as perhaps a teen gamer would do do keep the blade clean when battling dragons and orcs and the like. I imagine it was Karl's, or somebody gave it to him, or lost it in a game of runic geek poker late one winter's eve...

Thing is, if you recognize it and could give me any insight, I'd love a little glimpse into Karl's geeky days, so that when my own little geek is old enough to bear arms he might have his father's blade - depending on the story behind it, his own level of geekyness, and my confidence that he will only use it on orcs and dragons.

Running away from home

2010-04-27T13:36:00.000-05:00

We went out for a run around the neighborhood today - perhaps not such a good idea. The hill isn't so bad, but the sidewalks are terrible. Elliot did enjoy the ride in the jog stroller, but I didn't enjoy pushing it over 2 inch rises and muddy gaps.

Next time we'll try the park, tho it seems like as long as I'm driving, I might as well go to the Y where I can run solo while he plays well with other kids. Or not so well.

Mmmmm. Mac and Cheese

2010-04-24T23:44:00.000-05:00

So I went all healthy last night, and thought I deserved a little comfort food tonight. I've gotten pretty good at mac and cheese using soy milk as a base for the sauce, with real cheese for flavor. I think tonight's may have been the best yet.

I got a call around 6 from V, my sis in law, asking where I was. Seems I had said we'd come over today to hang out, but somehow that fell into the pit of my brain where it's all gooey and things just don't come back out. We'd never set a time, so I guess I just hadn't really committed, but we packed up ASAP and headed over for an evening of LOUD.

Elliot saw his first rainbow, which was awesome because I sing him a few rainbow songs, and I like that now he knows what they really are, not just illustrations in his Wiggles book. When it eventually faded, he said "Oh no. I can't see him. Where he go?" I said he had to go bye bye, but he'd be back again someday.

thumpity thump thump, look at rainbow go.

I can't believe how big he's getting. And just like me, he seems completely incapable of sitting correctly in a chair, even for a meal. I just love him in these little pjs.

I've been knitting up a storm the last few days (yep. all that rain and wind? my fault. so sorry) and almost have a sweater to show for it. I'm working the hood, then have a front edging, then done! It's a little snug, but I've started training for the 5K, and generally working out more, and have high hopes of dropping a little weight this summer.

But first, sleep. Elliot's slept 2 of the past 7 nights in his own bed, and I'm hoping for another one tonight. At some point, I can't just keep saying "by the time he's 12 he won't want to sleep with his mom" to justify the fact that I like having him there. The cat agrees with me, tho - sleeping next to Elliot is the bees knees.

Throw it in a Pot...

2010-04-23T18:56:00.000-05:00

I got my homework for FIT club, and it started out with a little encouragement to think about what we are eating, specifically that were getting enough fruits and veggies. Having bought several vegetable like things lately, I decided to throw them in together, apply heat, and see what happened. It came out not bad at all:

saute 1 small onion
chop 1 sweet potato, add to pan, cover about 10 minutes on med-low
add 1 can black beans, 1 can diced tomatoes, 1 tbsp cinnamon, 1 tsp thyme
stir. Cover. Simmer a while.

Eat.

Vegetables - check.

Ten Months..

2010-04-23T00:41:00.001-05:00

Thursdays. Yeah.

The thing about Thursdays is that I spend a lot of time on my own. After I drop Elliot off, I go out with the Knitters, then I come home, and my house is strangely empty. I shush the dog so he won't wake the baby, who, really, isn't a baby anymore, and even if he were, he isn't here.

Two weeks before Karl died, I asked mom for a favor. I asked her to watch Elliot on Thursdays so Karl and I could have a "Date Night." We were working somewhat opposite schedules, and when we did see each other, we often played pass the baby, that game new parents play where each is certain they are the more exhausted partner, and really it's not my turn.

So Thursdays were going to be our night, and now not a Thursday goes by that I'm not with him, in some way.

Tonight, during my alone time, I thought about how strange grief is. I'm so deeply sad, but not as much for Karl as for myself. I know he was happier than I'd known him those last few weeks. I know he was hopeful, and whatever he suffered, it was brief. I know that wherever he is now, he is not suffering.

But I know we are. And it's not so much that Karl will miss seeing Elliot's birthdays, or celebrating our anniversaries, or being with family at Christmas, as that we will always miss him. It's so devastating, knowing who he was, and how much he loved us, that he's not here with us, and we feel his absence fiercely, acutely, daily.

So maybe we are a little selfish to be sad for ourselves, because it's not what he would want. He would want us to live whole lives, he would want us to embrace each other, and laugh, and share, and love.

When Karl died, Elliot was 10 months old. Sometimes I forget that he was, then, really just a baby. Tonight I had to look at pictures, to remember where we were at, who Elliot was... This was one of the last photos of them together:
We don't get over it, this loss, but that doesn't mean we can't keep moving. I try to make my decisions now not based on what Karl would want if he were here, but on what he would want because he isn't. I believe he would want two things above all:those being for Elliot to thrive and grow, and for all of us to smile.

As we move into my own little season of remembrance, I embrace the idea that I can encourage both, and will make every effort to do so.

Happy Thursday.

Knitted Sisters Badge Options

2010-04-21T15:48:00.000-05:00

I've been working on some designs for my Thursday Knitting group - we just voted on a name, and on our knitting community website, there's an option for groups to have their own banner and logo, so I was asked to make some designs. Here's what I came up with (so far):

(above) Simple Text w/stockinette: This was the first, just trying to get a feel for how the name worked in space, and looking to get some knitting clipart going with it...

(above) Patchwork Project: Not all that "designy" but personalized. I sampled images from all members who had project images posted online, then patched them together the best I could.

(above) Shipwreck: I'm just a sucker for nautical stuff, not that it has anything to do with knitting or our group. I incorporated the N and W into a compass theme.

A Letter to a son...

2010-04-17T21:49:00.000-05:00

I just watched (most of) A Letter to a Son about his Father, which has reminded me, again, that I really need to know what I'm watching before I watch it.

I got hooked, naturally, by the description - a close friend of a murdered man goes on a journey to document the life and impact of one great man on the world, in hopes of preserving his memory for his son, who will never meet him. He travels overseas and across the US, filming stories and archiving photos, getting to know his friend more than he did in life. Finally, he meets the baby, who is temporarily in the custody of his grandparents.

They tell you from the start that it's the child's mother who murdered the father. They tell you about the delays and failures of the legal system and extradition. They tell you about the hopes of not only the grandparents, but friends and family everywhere... and how they would do anything for him, as he grows, and can't wait to tell him about his father.

What they don't tell you, until you've seen just how much love there was for this man, and is for his child, is that just a few months later, the baby is murdered too. The mother ties him to her chest and jumps into the ocean, committing suicide while out on bail. In one scene, you're told about the approaching hearing date where she'll be extradited and the grandparents will finally get custody. The next scene, she and the baby are missing, and two bodies, one a baby, wash up on the beach.

I was shocked; brought from a hopeful place and teary nostalgia, thinking of all the stories I know we want to share with Elliot, unexpectedly, straight to terror. Shaking and desperately afraid, I had to go check on Elliot, who was sleeping in his bed.

I shut off the TV, as if not watching could somehow mean these people who I'd so closely related to didn't really have to suffer this, that baby Zachary hadn't died. That the young doctor's son would know his father, and his parents would find peace in raising their grandson... How could they even survive this? I couldn't watch.

I went down the hall, and into his bedroom, and as I sat on his bed, he jumped a little in his sleep, startled by the sudden movement. I lied down next to him, putting my hand on his chest and feeling it rise and fall. My own heart was pounding, but it settled down as I felt him breathe.

I went back in and fast forwarded to the last few scenes. The letter that opened the movie was rewritten - where it had been addressed to the child, now it was a letter of gratitude to the grandparents, and an expression of the love and support their communities poured out to them. It tried to lift us back up, but for me, I couldn't come out of the dark.

Then they started in with the "If Only" bit. That, I couldn't watch. The grandparents wishing they'd tried to abduct him, wishing they'd murdered the mother... if they'd had a different judge, if only...

We can't change the past, and so to dwell on it, and blame yourself for not knowing what would come to pass, not preventing a tragedy - it's just piling pain onto pain. It's something I don't let myself do, ever. If I'd been home, if I'd called mom and David, if I'd made him keep Elliot... those aren't the things that happened, and so who knows if it would have been better or worse? I simply refuse to follow the train of thought.

I mentioned that I hadn't been sleeping well - I imagine tonight will not be better.

Funny how when I put Elliot down for bed, in his own room, I'd decided tonight we would start over with the whole Big Boy Bed, and get him used to sleeping alone... but I don't think I'm ready for that after having my heart ripped out like that. It's all I can do to write this down - all my instincts are telling me to get back to Elliot, NOW and protect him from some invisible threat, because dear god, look what can happen.

But to end on an up note, if that can be done, it does look like the tragedy has inspired lawmakers in Canada to rewrite bail laws when parents may be a threat to their children. It seems insane to me that any Judge could decide to give custody of an infant to a parent who was accused, with very substantial evidence, of murdering the other parent.

As for me watching movies? I'm only going to watch things somebody has pre-screened and warned me about the emotional gut punches. Because seriously, I'm not doing well picking them myself.

Yeah. I'm going to go startle my son again, and feel him breathe, and hope I can stop the tingling in my fingers and maybe get some sleep.

Honestly

2010-04-17T00:47:00.000-05:00

Even waking up with too much product caked in it, and out of control, I still love my hair :)

Not another person

2010-04-17T00:16:00.000-05:00

I don't know how to say what's in my head. There's this awful glob up there, it's made up of a lof of fears... Usually I'm all right at combating it, or at least containing it, but tonight it's got me all worked up.

And the thing that sucks is it's not something I can work through myself, but not something I can find words to talk about, either. I mean, not in a way that would make a midnight call to a friend make any sense at all.

So I sit here staring at the screen, which is decidedly not another person, certainly doesn't "get it," and has no answers. And I feel compelled to reassure you that I'm fine, because I don't want you to worry - not you, the computer, but you, the reader. I don't want to burden you, but I don't have the energy tonight to find inspiration on the fringes of the chaos.

Tonight I'm just seeing the chaos. It's wordless and whirling, and what if it's always like this? What if it's always me and a computer screen, and not another person? I know I'm strong, but still I'm scared.

It's not supposed to be easier, yet. That's what everybody said. And of course, they've been there, and described the way. The second year is harder, they said. The second year is real.

I was looking at maps today, wondering how long I could just drive, stopping here or there to connect with old friends, but it's no way for a toddler to live. Crashing on this couch or in that spare room, a day or two, then in the car for 9 hours... no, not a real possibility.

But I'm restless, here. I feel, at the same time, inspired and trapped. It's part of the chaos - I can't really explain it.

The past few days there's been a line from a movie stuck in my head. Don't ask me the line - I don't know it. Or what it's from. It's just the pitch of the voice, and the cadence of the lines, and I can't match it up to anything real. I'm sure it's in one of the kid movies I've half watched a million times with El - something that I never really paid attention to the dialogue, but now it's stuck circling in there, along with all the ifs and fears and cravings to run...

I'm not sleeping enough. I know it's true, but I can't make myself go to bed. I wake up feeling like crap, I have little appetite, I'm a bit aimless. But at the same time, I've been productive, working at the studio and in the yard. I don't want to call it depression, because I care deeply about all the things I should care about, and I'm not shutting down, but I'm not thriving, either...

Bah.

It's just a mess, my head. A big spinning mess.

This and That

2010-04-14T00:48:00.000-05:00

Kelly and Jeff at the pub Friday night... thought it fitting they have a photo where they met - behind the bar at Nolans

The ladies on the Airboat

The veil actually stayed on the whole ride. Amazing!

Maybe it was a little redneck, but it was a lot of fun...

Explaining this trip to Elliot...

2010-04-05T23:29:00.000-05:00

Tonight I tried to tell Elliot about going to Florida. I'll be gone a week. Don't get any ideas, you crafty internet thieves - I have a house sitter.

I didn't know how to talk to him about the trip at all. Then he saw me packing the suitcase, and (clever boy) said "Go bye bye on airplane?" He's been on enough trips to recognize the baggage.

I had to tell him that Mommy was going bye bye on the airplane, and baby was staying with Grandma. This was not met with the usual, "No, Thank You." but instead with, "No, Mommy." He kept telling me "Baby go bye bye on airplane." I don't think it's really sunk in, and tomorrow could be a little ugly. I'm glad we talked about it tho, and that he understood, even if he didn't like it.

Of course, my heart is breaking because I want him with me, and he wants to come with me, but I know the best thing for both of us is for him to stay here. We'll be doing planning and running around, and he would not enjoy that much time on good behavior. There will likely be late nights and big crowds, and if I have to constantly worry about what he's getting in to I'll never be able to relax. More fun for both of us if he's with Grandma, and I think it's good for both of us to know we can survive a little time apart.

As I was telling him that he could call me, and we could talk on the computer, he said "Movie?" like mommy would be in a movie he could watch. This made me suddenly terrified - what if something happened? That was how I spent so much of the first few months after Karl died - watching and rewatching home movies of him, the only way I could see and hear him. How horrible would it be if I didn't come back, and that was all he had of me? Especially since I still watch more videos than I shoot.

I know it's an irrational fear I'm facing, and that the chances of anything happening to me on the trip are most likely less that me driving on Hwy 40 any day of the week. But still, I have to take a minute to record, in writing if not in voice, how desperately I love my son, and how much I hope he always knows it. If I don't come back (which I WILL, by the way) you all better tell him every day that he meant, and means, the world.

And I will try not to cry at the airport, at least not while he is watching.

Self Sufficient?

2010-04-05T18:50:00.001-05:00

I ran down to do laundry, and I'd left the applesauce out...

Elliot helped himself to a rather ample serving...

Which he enjoyed, thoroughly.

Time Loss...

2010-04-04T22:16:00.001-05:00

When I said I'd tell you about all that stuff tomorrow, you knew I meant sometime in the next week, right? Because that's how we roll at Circle K... I blame the Alien Abductions.

So I only clearly remember one story - and of course it's the one about public urination. Who could forget that, right?

Elliot and I went to the part with some of the kids from our Y class on Thursday. After about 20 minutes, he was dancing the special potty dance, and I tried to take him to the bathroom. Unfortunately, the building was locked, so I looked around, and nobody was watching, and I took him back behind the building and pointed to a leaf. "That leaf is the potty," I said, "You can go there."

Well, he looked at me like I was insane and dragged me over to the bathroom door and said "Go In There."

I jiggled the handle, and explained it was locked, and let him back to the leaf. He looked at it with suspicion, and said "No, Thank You."

We went back to the park and played for another 10 minutes, at which point he was about to explode. I asked if he needed to potty, and he admitted he did. I explained our options again, and he reluctantly agreed to try the leaf.

I do wonder if Karl had been here and been able to model the behavior for him if it would not have been so strange. But I did the best I could to explain, and ultimately he had a little more pressure built up than I had realized, so instead of hitting the leaf near the wall, he blasted the wall itself... which I have to admit made him grin a little, even through the strangeness of it.

So there you have it - another adventure in single mothering.

Testing onetwothree Testing...

2010-04-02T01:01:00.000-05:00

I want to tell you about my day. I want to tell you about teaching, and about learning. I want to tell you about friendship and expectation, about dreams and fears. I want to make you laugh, or make you think, or just make you stop by the site and add another tick to my counter…

Unfortunately, I can’t.

Why? Well, the short answer is this:

bX-xhwc4k

What do I mean by that? Well, I’m not sure, but it’s the error code I’m supposed to send to Blogger to let them know that I can’t log in to my blog.

But if I weren’t bX-xhwc4ked up right now, I’d tell you about teaching Elliot to pee on a wall. I’d write about the importance of blue flip flops, and the common threads that bind all mothers together.

Instead, at the moment I can only type to my computer, sharing with only myself.

And all I can really say is bX-xhwc4k.

1:04 AM

Trying to post, but it won't allow pesky HTML tags like meta or link

Um, yeah. Crazy, mazy.

*ETA I had to remove all tags from the header of this post to make it publish... very strange, but at least it kinda worked. I'll still save the stories for tomorrow.

Haven't got it Maid

2010-03-29T17:34:00.000-05:00

So here's an embarrassing fact - sometimes I don't shoot videos of the adorable things Elliot does because I don't really want a record of what a state of disaster my house is in. Terrible, right?

I say this because today I did shoot some video of him playing with his remote control car. The batteries have been out for a while, and it's one of those unfortunate toys that takes a 9V instead of AAs, so it's taken me a some time to replace them. At the store today I finally remembered, and he had a blast chasing the thing all over the house.

What I didn't film, and should have, is his conversation with the iPod last night. Me and the iPod, really, but here's how it went:

E: night-night, iPoe.
Me: Mommy's iPod....
E: night-night, my iPoe. (hugging iPod) Myyy iPoe.
Me: Mommy's iPod....
E: No, thank you.

Polite - sort of?

2010-03-29T15:11:00.000-05:00

Elliot just ran by, chasing the dog and yelling "No Thank You!!!"

Fin had stolen his finger puppet, and was off to demolish it.

Apparently the dog doesn't respond as well to polite requests as mommy does. I had to yell "Drop It!" to get him to put it down.

I didn't even say please.

Elliot Karlson

2010-03-27T18:34:00.000-05:00

If you ask Elliot a question, and the answer is no, that's what he says, emphatically. When the answer is yes, he prefers to say "All right, I do that." Stubborn *and* verbose. Yep. Karl's son.

Wanted: Taj Mahal at Sunrise White

2010-03-26T01:09:00.000-05:00

I'm working (still!) on this knitting pattern, my first real venture into designing my own work. It's a beaded wrap worked in lace, and based on the Taj Mahal. I've struggled a lot with finding the perfect yarn. For myself, I could spin or dye my own, but I want to create a pattern which can be reproduced, and so I need a commercially available option.

There's a ton of beautiful yarns out there, in a rainbow of colors. I've looked at most of the local shops, and poured over dozens of websites. I'm amazed at the variety of rich, deep colors, and the beautiful combination available. If I wanted this piece to be any shade of the rainbow, I could find it.

Unfortunately for me, I want it to be white. Not sterile white or winter white, but warm white, as the marble brushed by the sunrise would be, and dappled darker here, brighter there, as the rays of light play across the faces of the stone. Too pale to be peach or pink, but not so colorless as to seem lifeless... As yet I haven't found it.

Why white?

Across various cultures, white is a color of both celebration and mourning. The design is a tribute to both, as I believe it's namesake to be as well. Tonight, I've been thinking about those moments when our hearts are simultaneously filled with grief and joy, when the seemingly unbearable weight of loss is assaulted by the relentless, infectious wonder of our children.

I've read stories from so many widowed parents who don't just keep going for their kids, but are truly brought back to life by them. I'm certainly one of their number - without Elliot, I hate to think where I would be.

Anyway, yesterday I finished the second half of the shawl, and I have only the joining panel left to make. I still haven't settled on a design, I only know I want a floral motif. I appreciate that flowers, like the color white, can be symbolic of both celebration and mourning, as well as love and hope.

Walking through the gardens last week I stopped to enjoy the crocuses, brightly heralding the arrival of spring. I hope when it's complete that the shawl with hold the same feeling of warmth and promise.

Passing it on...

2010-03-24T08:23:00.000-05:00

It's been even messier than usual here at Circle K. Last night I sorted through some of the old baby clothes I've been hoarding upstairs. My cousin has a little boy who I've been handing stuff down to, and he's growing again.

Some of the stuff is easy to pass on, but then there's the other stuff. There's the shirts that were Karl's favorites, and the things that have little monkeys. There's the outfits he wore on special occasions or for pictures. When I hold those, I'm back there, and Karl is closer. I can't decide which is stronger, the happy memories or pain of missing him. Both are more real with that physical reminder of what my life was with him.

So each time I go through the boxes I let go of about half of it. It's important to look back, but it's just as important to look forward. If I keep them, what are those tiny clothes going to mean to me later? If I have another baby, will I want to dress him in those same outfits? I think it might be too much, and if I have a partner, who knows how he will feel? Do I really want to store clothes for 20+ years and make Elliot take them for his own kids? These tiny memories with their adorable animal prints and soft, snuggly feelings deserve better.

I want to take the most positive approach, so I pass them on now to a little boy who will wear them and whose parents will add their own special memories, and who will pass them on a little bit at a time, holding on till they can let go, too.

Conversation?

2010-03-18T21:20:00.000-05:00

Me: Do you know how much mommy loves you? I love you more than cake.

Elliot: Cake. Eat. Yum.

A little down...

2010-03-09T22:59:00.000-06:00

Some days are better, some days are more, well, like today. Despite having a lovely time this morning at the Y class (Elliot played and participated and was so darned good) and chatting with my neighbor, and getting some work done for the show, I just can't get my head in a good place.

I miss Karl so much. Part of all the self improvement stuff I've been doing is to make me feel better about dating, but part of dating is miserable, because there's no escaping why I'm out there...

In the past few months I've invested more in myself than I think I ever have in my life. It isn't that I feel some crazy pressure from our patriarchal society that's forcing me to try to be younger or prettier or skinnier to find a mate - it's that I've actually always wanted to take better care of myself, but never really thought I was worth it.

I grew up believing I was not an attractive girl, and no makeup or wardrobe or diet would make any difference, so why put myself through all that? I never "let myself go" as they say, but I just didn't put any real thought into my "image."

And now that I am making an effort, it's so much fun I'm regretting all the time that I didn't. I'm also heartbroken that Karl isn't here to see me, not looking better, but feeling better about the way I look. I wish I could share this with him, and the irony is if he hadn't died, I might never have gained the confidence I have now, and might still be afraid to go to the salon with a picture of a beautiful blond and say, "make me look like that."

So I'm learning. Nobody's going to laugh at me because my eyeliner is in the wrong place, or my nails are the wrong color for my dress, or my shoes.... well, ok. They may laugh at my shoes. But if they do, screw 'em. I'm doing the best I can, trying to be the best me possible, and I think I'm doing a damn fine job of it.

Today, tho, all that good stuff just makes me miss him more, for wanting him to be here to love me.

New Do

2010-03-08T00:52:00.000-06:00

Don't I look so excited about it!? I do love it :)