Forgive me, dear reader(s). I've had several serious life changes in the past two or three months, and I have yet to fall into a new routine. Blogging has been one of the things that has fallen to the wayside.
Life Changes:
1) I broke up with my wife.
2) I moved out.
a) I moved in with one of my dearest friends
i) and stayed on her couch for a month.
b) I moved off of my friend's couch.
i) and into my sister's house.
ii) where I temporarily have a bed!!
3) I enrolled at the local community college.
a) I am enrolled for a full 12 hour course load.
b) I am pursuing a Nursing Degree.
i) to follow my dream of becoming a midwife (!!)
4) I quit my full-time, well-paying job.
a) See #3
5) After a one-day job search, I found one.
a) At Starbucks.
b) I start on Thursday, September 2nd.
c) I am uber-excited (!!)
Yep. That about sums it up.
So. As to a routine ... Because I am currently living out of a few eco-conscious cloth sacks filled with a very limited selection of clothing, plus a few necessities - toiletries, books, and the like - I feel very transient. My diet, tenuously healthy though it was, has suffered for two reasons: that feeling of having no roots, and a bit of Depression. I'm still grieving The Breakup.
I have so appreciated my friends' and family's hospitality over the past few months. Being with my friend for a full month was just what the doctor ordered for my spirits, and spending time with my family after having been distant for so long has been so refreshing. But ... I crave a space to call my own. I've been searching, and may have a few promising leads on Efficiency and One Bedroom apartments near work and school. I'll be visiting them after class on Monday.
Perhaps ... perhaps, despite the sense of upheaval I can't seem to shake, I should pick up where I left off months ago. Perhaps it's time to use this blog for its appointed purpose.
I need to start making one - just one - vegetarian meal per week. It seems silly that that hasn't occurred to me until tonight. I suppose it goes back to my last post (it seems like I wrote that a lifetime ago!), in which I realized - what the hell am I waiting for? What's stopping me from meditating? A lack of candles??
What's stopping me from going veg*n? Not having an apartment?!
When you put it that way ... LOL.
It'll be good for me to start blogging again. You know things are bad when I stop journaling in my hard-bound blank book. And I have. Stopped, that is.
It'll give me something to look forward to, and prepare for, every single week.
Plus, I like showing off my pictures, even if they are a little gimpy sometimes. :)
So, tomorrow morning, I'll gather the few cookbooks I have not packed away, and go grocery shopping for mah dinner! I'll let you know how it goes!
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Monday, June 30, 2008
Monday Memory
When I was young, my family took lots of road trips. Why, or when, we stopped is something I've always wondered about. The trips just kind of dwindled out over the years.
Anyway.
Sometimes, as a special treat, we'd stop at rest stops or parks, as opposed to just a quick pit-stop at a gas station. At these parks, Dad would walk around with we chil'rens and point out unique tree knots and holes. "They're Gnome Homes", he'd tell us.
{ }
For a short time, my two younger brothers and I shared a room. Probably long past most kids out-grew them, my dad would tell us stories that he had written: all centering around Alvin, a wizened old wizard who lived at the tip-top of a mountain. The adventure always began the same, with the admonition to close our eyes and keep them closed. He then sprinkled a scented faery dust over each of us, which was inevitably followed by much giggling. I loved that smell, and more, I loved the sound. The sound of the aromatic dust being crushed between his large fingers, magnified a hundred times for the simple reason that my eyes were tightly closed. I think that sound will stay with me for the rest of my life. I can hear it now, can almost smell those herbs ... and still, after all these years, I feel relaxation tickling at the fringes of my consciousness.
He'd then guide us up, up, up into the blue sky; even higher we'd soar, into the lightest and fluffiest of clouds. Once he knew he had our unwavering attention, the adventure would begin ...
We always visited Alvin on horses - Star, Nina and Stardust were their names. Dad would pat our bellies to the rhythm of the horses' hooves. The adventures were never epic, but always captured the imagination.
About a year ago I asked my dad what the faery dust actually was. It was a small vial of crushed herbs (Chamomile, Rosemary) and ... sparkles. Where had he found such a thing? "Oh, at a local mystical shoppe", was his nonchalant answer.
{ }
My father taught me about innocence, about childlike wonder, about making the mundane - magical.
{ }
P.S.
There's nothing better than listening to The King's Singers when you're hurtling down the highway for long distances.
Anyway.
Sometimes, as a special treat, we'd stop at rest stops or parks, as opposed to just a quick pit-stop at a gas station. At these parks, Dad would walk around with we chil'rens and point out unique tree knots and holes. "They're Gnome Homes", he'd tell us.
For a short time, my two younger brothers and I shared a room. Probably long past most kids out-grew them, my dad would tell us stories that he had written: all centering around Alvin, a wizened old wizard who lived at the tip-top of a mountain. The adventure always began the same, with the admonition to close our eyes and keep them closed. He then sprinkled a scented faery dust over each of us, which was inevitably followed by much giggling. I loved that smell, and more, I loved the sound. The sound of the aromatic dust being crushed between his large fingers, magnified a hundred times for the simple reason that my eyes were tightly closed. I think that sound will stay with me for the rest of my life. I can hear it now, can almost smell those herbs ... and still, after all these years, I feel relaxation tickling at the fringes of my consciousness.
He'd then guide us up, up, up into the blue sky; even higher we'd soar, into the lightest and fluffiest of clouds. Once he knew he had our unwavering attention, the adventure would begin ...
We always visited Alvin on horses - Star, Nina and Stardust were their names. Dad would pat our bellies to the rhythm of the horses' hooves. The adventures were never epic, but always captured the imagination.
About a year ago I asked my dad what the faery dust actually was. It was a small vial of crushed herbs (Chamomile, Rosemary) and ... sparkles. Where had he found such a thing? "Oh, at a local mystical shoppe", was his nonchalant answer.
My father taught me about innocence, about childlike wonder, about making the mundane - magical.
P.S.
There's nothing better than listening to The King's Singers when you're hurtling down the highway for long distances.
Friday, June 27, 2008
In memoriam
I have a blue journal in which I write memories of my recently-deceased father.
What you must understand is that I have a notoriously patchy memory at best, most likely caused by the myriad medications I am currently, or have in the past, been on. More than the physical loss of my dad, I fear the loss of memories of him; hence, the Journal. My memory is rather spastic, with snippets flipping in and out of mind pretty randomly, so I like to keep the Journal (or a scrap of paper) handy wherever I go - the idea being ... well, you get the idea.
The most recent addition to the Blue Journal:
So. I miss my dad.
/post.
What you must understand is that I have a notoriously patchy memory at best, most likely caused by the myriad medications I am currently, or have in the past, been on. More than the physical loss of my dad, I fear the loss of memories of him; hence, the Journal. My memory is rather spastic, with snippets flipping in and out of mind pretty randomly, so I like to keep the Journal (or a scrap of paper) handy wherever I go - the idea being ... well, you get the idea.
The most recent addition to the Blue Journal:
My dad and I are a lot in common. When we get a bee in our bonnet, we follow the idea to an exhaustive end. Take, for instance, the Year of the RV. He researched different RV's, the pro's and con's of each, where to buy them, how much they'd cost ... and eventually purchased a trailer and red F250 truck. We only took one or two road trips with it, but spent many weekends with one of those smallish, white TV/VCRs you can buy on the cheap at Wal*Mart, watching movies and having sleepovers - sometimes with friends, but mostly just we chil'rens and dad. We kept a veritable arsenal of candy out there, for just such an occasion.
Around the same time, but something that wasn't followed through on, was the horn upgrade for his Honda Civic. He wanted the same kind of horn that Semi trucks use. I mean, the obscenely loud, low-pitched ones. I clearly remember standing next to him, looking at a few on display, smiling kind of bemusedly at his childlike enthusiasm. But, wow. Thankfully that one buzzed right on out of his bonnet.
So. I miss my dad.
/post.
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