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Archive for December, 2011

non-sequitur, etc.

9pm and i’m ready for bed. i’m pretty sure the girl is asleep. the boy fell asleep instantly, not two seconds after adorably saying “night night” and waving as i left the room. (please sleep all night, you. your cuteness will mean nothing, NOTHING!, at 3 am.)

tonight was curried carrot and ginger soup, as made by my beloved. it cures what ails on a blustery, cold night in austin. (a little rioja and dark chocolate with pomegranates didn’t hurt anything, either.)

my weekend was insulated by rain and wind and a little thunder. pots of french-pressed coffee. a cheap, oaky malbec. and h and i christmas shopped for our kids, together, for the first time ever, thanks to the indefatigable uncle g. (also: he took jude to see yo.gabba.gabba. live yesterday. alone. srsly.)

a milestone this weekend: mister zig got his first haircut, which lasted a whole five seconds and cost a whole ten dollars. (that’s two dollars per second, for those playing along at home.) no longer does he have snot-crusted bangs stuck in his nose; instead, he looks a lot like christopher robin.

a triptych of before and after:

and an instagram:

does he slay you with the sweetness like he slays me? squish goes my heart.

and with that, a goodnight.

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a long december

nine years ago today, i posted this bit of an advent meditation on my old blog. i was twenty-four, living in east belfast for a season, trying to find my voice. my grandmother had been dead three years at the time, and now? the whole thing still rings tremendously true. i hope you enjoy.

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it’s been a long time since i’ve listened to the counting crows’ recovering the satellites.

“i guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower, makes you talk a little lower…”

it’s strange how months attach themselves to memories. wistful or malevolent.
like grandmother. like cancer.

“the smell of hospitals in winter.”

i remember. those last days were stark (county) and grandma on her back, in a bed. i’d never seen her that way before. i brought pizza and we chuckled about small things. i watched her chest move up and down, breathing.

“…hold on to these moments as they pass.”

the last time i went, we talked of nashville, while i held my sleeping baby nephew on my lap. she held my hand a lot. her eyes were tired, so she looked at the ceiling as she spoke. my nephew-holding arm was asleep, tingly. my grandma-held hand sweaty. i followed her gaze up to the drop ceiling tile of the bland room. i assured her that i would be alright in nashville. i had a job, a place to live. friends. emergency contacts, like 911 and poison control.

she looked at me suddenly.

“honey?”
“yes grandma?”
“do you feel my hand?”
“yes grandma.”
“it’s warm, isn’t it?”
“yes.”
“that’s because i’m alive. and you’re alive. so. dive in, honey, dive in.”
“i will, grandma. i promise.”

that semester, i had been taking a class on counseling (i was still studying to become a therapist then) and my professor had spent the most recent class teaching us how to say goodbye. he stressed the importance of saying goodbye effectively, not merely saying see ya later, when you know you won’t.

i was leaving for nashville in five days.

when it was time to go, i held my grandmother’s hand in both of mine, and looked her in the eye.

“i love you grandma,” i said. “goodbye.”
“goodbye honey” she replied, looking back at me. (was that a wink? grandma never winked…) “i love you too.”

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about

hey guess what? i finally updated my about page! it’s no longer 2009!

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