Early Spring

I figured it all out on the run today. Bear with me while I babble crazy stuff.

Don't be confused about God and winter and destruction. God isn't about keeping you from being hurt, or giving you what you want, or punishing people for doing the wrong things. Easter may still be about eliminating the fear of death. But God is certainly about volcanoes and floods and forest fires. Lightening strikes and dying stars. What happens after these tragedies? Everything.

Everything keeps happening and moving and growing. Plants push up through ashes. Beautiful canyons are carved out where millenia before there were great oceans. New planets form out of the combined molecules that comprise metals and dust kicked off by the spent star that used to be the center of a solar system. Those molecules that were once simple hydrogen.

There's no remorse for the loss of what came before - only the continual opportunity for new somethings to exist. God is about endless second chances.

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On the 27th of February, 2011, I noticed my tulips are coming up. I noticed lettuce - not known for being self-sowing - bursting to life in my garden. And again I am surprised by spring. Hopefully I earned it this year.

I am a sap for my girl

Yesterday was your surprise party, and it was perfect. It was perfect because I felt like I was giving you exactly what would make you happy - truly. Friends. Delight. Ice cream in the middle of the day. Freedom to celebrate Messy and Silly and Pretend. You were the pretty and popular one at the dance, and all the boys wanted to be on your card. Ok, so there were no boys, but that's not the point.

The point is that I love you with such a force that it is humbling. When I am with you I have no other desire than to surround you and absorb you and make the world exist for you, and if I were to never think of myself again it would be too soon. What parent doesn't feel this way?

But no one has a Juliet like I do. No one knows your soft cheeks, your humming, your frenetic productivity, your sunny-side-up-since-you-were-trying-to-be-born nature. How could anyone else understand the pleasure in carrying your weight up the steps at bed time, or the feel of your little hands around my neck? Surely no other parent becomes drunk like I do when you wrap yourself around me and sway and chant, 'My momma is so wonnnnnnnderful...'

It's you that is wonderful in every way. Full of wonder, brimming over with sparkling joy and wonder, rolling around every waking minute of every day in wonder. And your birthday party yesterday was a tribute to you - to give back a little of that wonder that you serve to me on a silver platter every second of your life just by existing. I love you.

Spiraling

I am clamping down and working today, but find the anxiety brewing to the point of being distracting. I realize that the pattern of my thinking is contributing to the level of stress I am feeling right now, and I see the spiraling Dr. Hopkins identified for me last year.

There are so many things I can't control right now, but maybe I can wrestle this one to the floor. To myself: step back when you notice you're thinking the same thought multiple times. Picture that one thought in your mind as separate from you. Is it something that can be addressed? If so, do immediately what is needed to alleviate the worry inherent in the thought. Otherwise, picture the thought moving past you. Let it go.

Example thought: My scalp is itching very distinctly again. I wonder if the lice are back.

What can be done?

A) Ask JBL to check my scalp (not really possible)

B) Do yet another Rid treatment (this will be my 5th in as many weeks)

C) Wait and see

Make a decision: Though my Rid treatment last week made the itching stop for several days entirely, now that it's back the itching may imply some nits have hatched. Then again, it could just be dry scalp. I will wait one more day before assessing if another treatment is warranted. Done. Move on.

This seems like a silly exercise, but I find that when I have too many worrying thoughts swirling in my brain, I break down functionally. Nothing overly dramatic happens. No hospital visits are required. I simply stop doing things I need to do, beginning slowly with tasks like laundry, and building up to work and family-related requirements. After a while I return to normal, but not until I have (usually) reached some painful point of depression. I cannot afford this cycle of behavior at this point. Maybe by writing this all down, I can keep the cycle from beginning today. It's all one day at a time, after all.

Leather

Look at me writing! Ok, this *technically* is not my work writing assignment, but think of it like a warm-up jog before a half-marathon. And besides, I decided I can't actually start work until after the conference call because I need to hit the grocery for both of this week's parties. Yeah. Anyway.

I just wanted to note before I forget - and I already told JBL about it this weekend, but we both forget things all the time - that J calls all fabric and material 'leather'. I don't know how this started, and at 7 she certainly has the vocabulary and mental acumen to determine to appropriate word in context, but...it's just so cute I can't correct her.

(In the bathroom at a local bistro, drying her hands with very soft, thick paper towels...) "Mommy, isn't this leather so soft? It must be very expensive!"

True, honey. Very true.

Block

I have the attention span of a gnat today. I know what the problem is - I am my own road block. I have amassed 55 files filled with untold amounts of information for my analysis project. Other than confirming some details with my client, I am ready to begin writing my final document.

And yet, as much as I love writing, I find it to be incredibly painful. Always have. As I mentioned to K the other day - this exact situation - where I have a brain-full of stuff that needs to be manipulated, organized and formatted into a communication of information for the benefit of others - is the most difficult thing I do. (Well almost - losing daily in a battle of wills to a 7 year old can be tougher, but I manage.)

It's a shame it's what people pay me to do. I'm sure it's not obvious given my blatherings here, but some folks think I'm actually good at analytical writing, and are willing to fund my retirement account in order to be on the receiving end of it. They are expecting some good, concise information about their current organizational state any day now, and it will likely take me the rest of February and all of March to deliver. It would probably be a good idea for me to get started.

But then I remember I want to post this on Twitter for a bunch of people who could care less about me:

Then I see some offending dirt that needs to be vacuumed up. I grab the Dyson, spending another 15 minutes looking for stray stinkbugs. Then I check Facebook because someone commented on my post regarding comfort foods. And THEN I return to my document, containing still only one sad introductory paragraph. I review a supporting document to get my direction and momentum going, then JBL comes in to ask a question about something not related to work.

Next thing I know, it's 4:45 - time to sign off for the day. Tomorrow morning, however, I will return. I have until 11am (conference call) to get some words on paper. And I will tell myself what I told K last week as she struggled with a school writing assignment: the hardest part is getting started. Just get started, and it will all flow out onto the page.

Here's hoping....

Passing

JBL's grandfather is dying. There's not much more I can say than that. Well, maybe I can say a bit more.

Grandy was a playmate for Jon, spending hours creating memories to last a lifetime. Then he was a father when Jon's parents couldn't do their job, taking care of Jon for months at a time. He was a self-made man who inspired Jon to try his best as an adult. He taught his great-granddaughter to play checkers. He made sure he had toys for both girls every time we visited. He talked gardening with me, and asked about my family, listening intently as I shared stories of my own life and childhood.

Grandy is - was - a good man. Humble. Big-hearted. Watching him die, just as I watched both my parents go, is terrible. Mouth gaping wide, shriveled body twitching in a hospice bed. It's all so harsh, not something you can soften in any way.

Grandy, I bid you peace tonight. Go to Mary Evelyn. She's waiting for you. My dad will be delighted to meet you. And once you're there, you can be with us any time you want. We'll think of you with love and joy in our hearts. Thank you for everything.

Tazmanian Devil

If I could draw a picture of JBL leaving for work in the morning, well. It would not just be one picture. It would be a stack of pictures that you flip through to mimic a movie. In each picture he would be a grinding, swirling ball of frustration, kicking off stars and dirt as he first flies down the stairs, then stomps into the kitchen to put his shoes on, storms down to his basement office for God-knows-what, thundering back - finally - through the kitchen (cussing all the while) to collect his things.

Near the end, a picture will show him standing abruptly still as he realizes he cannot leave the house without that one critical, last-minute item. The cloud of dust around him settles briefly as his eyes - still wild - scan the room desperately. Is he searching for me? Heck no. He needs that one last gulp of water (because the water bottle waiting in his car just isn't the same). Flip-flip-flip the motion begins again and he fairly lunges across the room, cursing the gods because that cup is further away than it has any right to be, swigs down an enormous mouthful of water with a huge groan and sigh, and turns to leave.

The door to the garage is yanked open and wavy lines would indicate the blast of cold air rolling into the kitchen, muting his depressed farewell that usually goes something like, "I have no idea when I'll be home," or "I'll call you but I can't tell you when that will be..." The last pictures will show the closed door having just slammed behind him, clouds puffing out from the corners, followed by a faded depiction of the quiet left behind.