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Snow slipping into spring and I have no complaints. The sun is shining on my keyboard, and this morning, out in my down parka, rubber boots, and running shorts to feed the birds, there was no ache on my bare skin. And the birds! Their sweet souls are grateful and singing. The happy cacophony I awoke to, a hundred songs at once, sent my own heart aloft.
Life is good.
Pittsburgh feels more like home. There are more pictures on the wall, more boxes empty, more happy grooves being worn with the pattern of our two small lives. We are eager for travel, rain instead of snow, to drive yet more new roads, to walk and stomp and gallop our way across new sidewalks and paths.
Lovely light! Product of a stained glass window, it meanders across the bathroom wall.
Thanks for being here…
Moody Melancholia. The name of my current alter ego. It explains a lot.
The death of my Grandma remains a delicate open wound, visible to the naked eye of passersby.
And yesterday, our little schmoo Milo, after not eating for more than a day but producing a copious amount of foul vomit, breathing rough and ragged, and barely able to walk, laid and cuddled with me on the sofa to a Gilmore Girls marathon. I was awfully torn, telling him that if he needed to leave his little earthly body, he could, and that I would love him always. But in my heart and between my sobs, I selfishly prayed for him to stay, which he did, but who knows for how long. He is sixteen-and-a-half, O L D. The thing is, I do not want to lose both of my kitties and my Grandma in four months time. I do NOT.
My Grandma, whose body was cremated today. My God, the finality of that. She is really and truly gone. And here I am in Pittsburgh, this city that fits like shoes in dire need of breaking in. They look lovely, and I do not regret the purchase, but they hurt to wear for too long. The problem is that I already left the house. Dolled up and miles from home, I must keep going. Plodding awkwardly forward, hoping the blisters don’t tear and bleed, I sulk a little, sometimes a lot, truth be told, before falling down the stairs and making the biggest raspberry known to man on my backside. Actually, not metaphorically. The hubster bearing witness, helpless and horrified.
I am a hot mess.
Please send love and hot-cocoa thoughts while I search for a silver lining.
May today there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise, and love. It is there for each and every one of us.
Saint Terese of Liseaux