Waiting in the Weeds

It's so curious:  one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief.  But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.  

 Colette

Funny how life spins. How you plan that when you reach that certain point in time when a task completed will allow you to move forward, you suddenly discover you haven't finished where you were at all. Can set you right back on your ass. And, there, perhaps the only place to hang out is in the weeds, waiting for another day when it might be a little easier to emerge -- slowly.

Plan to return to my blogging world very soon. School's out for me next week. Several other things to tidy up and then, well, then I will see where the summer takes me. If I'll pull the  weeds out or let them hide around me a little longer. 

Hope all of you are well. I miss your worlds. Hopefully not for much longer.

Roll Tide

I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am.

Sylvia Plath 

Roll Tide. Rolling tide. Rolling. Been a while since I've posted, but I am still rolling. Not certain it is a clean roll. Lots of undertow in the tide.

As many have experienced, a death in the family often produces a fog that blocks the roads ahead. Thought processes muddle or become stagnant. For me, both true. Varied thoughts all the time and  gathering them into a cohesive plan for life action has taken time. Not to say I'm all organized now, for that sure as hell ain't true (nor never possibly has been.) But I do have a new list of action items - things that must get done. It is a start.

"Write a new post" on my list. Here we go.

This is what $230 will get you for a seat at an Alabama game - one that also includes the #1 and #2 team.

Last summer, when we chose to attend the Alabama/LSU football game, we had no idea that by the time the game rolled around, these two would be the top two teams in the nation (or that our tickets had tripled in price.) Oh, what fun. We drove the 11 hour drive to Tuscaloosa and invaded our youngest son's spotless apartment. (I mean - that boy DID learn how to clean a bathroom when he lived at home.)  His three roommates were thrilled to have us spend a couple of days there. Such nice boys.

 The night before the game, we began tailgating on campus. Never had I seen such a set up - not at a Michigan State, Texas, Colorado, Michigan, Texas A&M, etc. game. Thousands of tents. Countless RV's set up everywhere from fields on campus to the shopping malls. 175,000 people milling about.

The fun began - early morning. A rare open space here.

 

 There we were, a couple of former Yankees in the deep South.

Even the ESPN guys were there.

Throngs of people.

The streets jam packed all day long.

One of the many, many RV parking lots.

 

According to some, watching the game on TV was the equivalent of the Boring Bowl. For those present, Alabama's loss in this defensive struggle, 9-6, was most intense to sit through. 

Best thing? Good chance  these two teams will meet again for the National Championship.

Other than being with youngest son, best thing about the trip?

Stopped in New Orleans on the way home. Husband finally got to garner the experience. Made him stand here for the traditional photo.

I won't have to listen to him whine about never being there, anymore.

Meanwhile....

I've pretty much felt like this big block of ice for the past couple of months. Losing your mom is an odd thing to process.

I believe I've broken off from the big pile and find floating has unstuck me some. Hoping for a bigger melt real soon. The fog has lifted and offers a path.

To all of you who have written me and to all who left such lovely comments on my mom's last blog post at Old? Who Me?, please accept my heartfelt thanks.

Roll Tide!

Bookends

book·end   
noun
a support placed at the end  of a row of books  to hold them upright, usually used in pairs.

Twenty-four years ago I moved to Texas -- seven months pregnant and the mother of a two year old. Pregnant, I wasn't exactly an ideal job candidate. Home with the first child and then a new baby was unfamiliar territory for me, the working girl. Each day I listened to the lady across the street drive away to work and was extremely jealous. I began another day of uncertainty, trapped in a house in a new town with two babies and no friends.

My mom and dad arrived in town shortly after the birth of the second child to help me for a couple of weeks. My husband, very serious about his career, worked long days and I appreciated the help my folks gave me.

However, mothers can be mothers. One afternoon she walked with my two year old to the neighborhood park. At home, the baby napped and I took one, too. Next thing I awoke to was my mother standing beside me.

"Come outside," she said. "I want you to meet someone."

My heart collapsed. I felt like I was five again. I recalled this scene from my childhood to the detail. My mother had found a friend for me. For me, the shy, little girl who couldn't find her own friends. My mother waltzing on air to introduce me to my new friend -- and me, wanting to hide in the bathroom.

I trudged out to the driveway where a young woman my age stood beside a minivan. "This is Rebekah," my mom said. "She gave us a ride home from the park."

I stood in the yard, shuffling my feet back and forth, blushing I'm certain, saying my hellos. My mother's new friend had two children -- a beautiful little blonde girl about two with a mad look on her face and a boy of three, who whipped out the pistols in his gun belt and shot me.

Suffice to say, 24 years later, that little boy with the guns is now getting a Masters in Creative Writing at a London university and "Mad Maddy" is madly in love in Vancouver. Rebekah and I are still friends and from that union a grand group formed -- the Bunco Bitches.

I have my mom to thank for that.

Rebekah and I met the rest of our motley crew while pushing our kids in the swings at the park. We weren't always bitches, but we are now. We don't necessarily remember anyone's birthday with any consistency. We all have different professions, friends, and activities that keep us apart except for once a month on the second Tuesday when we gather to eat and drink and yack. We haven't played bunco in over 12 years. But we are who we are and when we get together, there is no pretense. We put up with each other just because.

Being together for so long, it is kind of like home. We take each other in no matter what. Very often, it is the safest place I know to go.

In September, I hosted Bunco Bitch LakeFest. I knew at that time my mom was having great difficulty and that her life would change very soon. I didn't know she was to die, but I knew we were headed on a new journey. I'm uncertain exactly what my mother's journey may now be, but I know mine is rather emotionally-wracked at the moment. Most fortunate for me LakeFest served as the left bookend to the beginning of the past month and Bunco Bitch BeachFest bookended the right.

This weekend, Rebekah hosted the BeachFest at the Gulf Coast. I must say, Friday afternoon after our arrival, I sat up on the Bird's Nest deck of her beach house and with the sea before me and a slew of ships and sailboats coming in and out of the harbor, I took the first breath I'd taken in quite a few weeks. Glass of spirits in my hand, sunshine overhead, a clear view before me, I couldn't think of any place more comforting at that moment.

So, must share. Lake first, then the beach.

Remember the Recreation Station? It had blown down the lake so this crew swam down and retrieved it. Notice the supervisor on the right.

Not quite as comfortable as we'd hoped.

Naps allowed.

Reading garbage

Eat, Float, Drink

Graceful Rope Swing Entrance


LIFE INTERVENES

View from the Bird's Nest - the path to the Gulf of Mexico

Bitches at Work

 

Chair Yoga

See us way out there?

Show Off

Now, onto the next bookshelf.

Soaking for A While

"And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter and sharing of pleasure. For in the dew of little things the heart finds it morning and is refreshed. 

Kahlil Gibran

Old? Who? Me?http://bernie-oldwho--me.blogspot.com/