New holiday

So today on the way to take Abby to school..(written 5/20/08 and not published)

Abby: Gramma when is the next holiday?
Me: Well I guess that would be Memorial Day.
Abby: What comes after that?
Me: Forth of July, your birthday, Thanksgiving, Jack's birthday, Christmas...
Abby: ...and after that is new holiday (new years eve) for adults.
Me: Oh, New Years Eve, yes. It is an adult holidy because you have to stay up until midnight and kids can't stay up that late.
Abby: Yeh I'd be grouchy.
Me: Uh huh. Lots of adults are pretty grouchy on New Years Day.
Abby: Maybe that's why Harry is so grouchy all the time.
Me: Is Harry a boy at your school.
Abby: Yes and he is grouchy every day...maybe he stays up too late.

..two feet

To my knowledge no one has ever expounded on the wonder and versitility of two feet...

I, who have just spent four endless days with only one foot - Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday - regret that I am not a poet and, thus, unable to adequately praise such a gift; I regret all the times I have passed a wheelchair, walker bound person without giving thanks for two feet; I regret that I have taken two feet mostly for granted.

With two feet you can stand unassisted in the middle of a room, a park, a driveway, a sidewalk; with one foot, unless you are the Karate Kid, you fall on your face.

With two feet, standing tall, you can reach the stove, the sink, a table or the food in the frig; with one foot you are on the ground, knee level at best, where nothing, not even a toothbrush is available without some struggle.

With two feet you can stand in the shower or bend over a sink to wash your hair and even your armpits; with one foot you don't wash at all and you begin to smell a bit pungent.

With two feet bathroom privledges are taken for granted; with one foot a trip to the accomodation is an arduous ordeal and not to be embarked on lightly.

With two feet you are independent, invincible; with one foot people wait on you, are anxious for you and you are helpless.

This is day five.
This is Tuesday.
I have two feet.
I am a happy woman.

Happiness is...

Happiness is discovering that you did NOT make a ridiculous mistake after all; that on the contrary you did it just right. It matters not that it took hours to resolve or that you worked thirteen hours this day because of it.

I hate making mistakes.
I love NOT making mistakes.

Life is good.

Still moving...

..I think perhaps I'll never finish.

The awfulness of it is that I am not only not moving yet, I haven't even called the realtor. Every time I turn around something else needs doing or needs to be stuffed in the garage where I barely have room for my car. The house is beginning to look good and I am actually quite happy living here until, that is, I need something I have packed away and it ends up not being where I thought it was and no where else either.

I am becoming so paranoid about losing things, I have started to keep my keys, garage door opener and cell phone in a box in the hall. If you have one of those senior kind of memories it is the only thing to do.

I am exausted, but most of the big things are done now
. bedroom patched and painted
. shelving dismanted in laundry room
. laundry room patched and painted
. garbage disposal replaced (a fervernt thank you to Albert)
. mini blinds all washed and rehung
. workroom closet dismantled
. ink stained carpet patched
. workroom closet floor (where the patch was taken) tiled
. everything non-essential moved to the garage

...and tomorrow is another day.

Packrat

I have to face it. I am a packrat and I don't know what to do about it.

In my heart of hearts, I actually intend to live long enough to find a use for all the random stuff I save or rescue. But a reality check assures me that nobody could POSSIBLY live that long. The plan, you see, was that I would live here in Camarillo for the rest of my life and I would leave it all for my children and grandchildren to sort through after I was gone. I figured that the anger and frustration that this would generate would help them through the grieving process.

So much for plans. Now that I am moving to Pasadena and am also very much alive, it is all for me to do. It is me who is angry and frustrated - at me. So the trick is in figuring the possible-use odds for every object in my currently overstuffed garage.

Will I ever hook another rug? Maybe.
Will I ever crochet again? Yes. Will I need yarn? Yes.
Will I have more granddaughters (or friends grandaughters) who can use the beautiful clothers that Abby has outgrown? Yes.
Will I bake cookies to put in Christmas boxes to give away? Probably. I won't have a job.
Will I need the picture frames I have collected for artwork? Probablly. I won't have a job.
Will I need matt board? Yes
Will I need random gifts I have picked up? Yes. I won't have a job.
Will I need extra bedding? No. (finally!)
Will I need pieces of ceramic doll body parts, eyes, wigs, paint? Probably not.
Will I need doll molds? Proably not...no kiln
Will I need craft clay and accessories? Probably.
Will I need THREE printers? Yes. Yes. I really really need them!
Will I need all the toys? Yes. The grandchildren.
Will I need all my beautiful books? Yes. I really really need them!
Will I need to keep every piece of art Ada or I have ever made? Not sure.
Will I need the bakers racks? Donno.

Ah. The list goes on. Big Sigh!

...home

Feels a bit surreal this Chrismas morniing to be home after 20 days of playing "mom". So easy to get hooked on being needed and feeling the pleasure of doing something useful for people you love. Through the generosity of my daughter and son-in law I got to share for a moment the wonder of new motherhood - this time with the serenity that hindsight brings.

I know with certainty

• that Abby will find friendship and live happily ever after
• that the milk will flow
• that the crying will stop
• that Jack will someday soon sleep through the night

...it is just a baby

temp for ada