It's been quite awhile since I sat here and wrote. Longer still since I actually completed a post; I have more drafts in the last year than I have frogs in the yard. Oh yes, we moved. Perhaps later I will visit the move, not tonight. Suffice it to say everyone is happy with it, even the local frogs have decided we can stay. Can you imagine had they decided to boot the whole lot of us out? A frog led overthrow, scary.
And I illustrate why I have not written.
My son found me a few days ago in the barn writing on a notepad and mentioned that I only write when I am "bothered". I kinda smiled my "how I wish you knew me better" smile and reminded him that the only time I could write with any success is when I wasn't "bothered". He pretended to understand what I was saying and I let my mind drift off into some silliness that involved frogs or horse supplements.
A lot like I am doing now, which is why it's been a coon's age; I spent a few hours researching the meaning/origin of that one before deciding on the expression (god love google).
My second grandson (Aiden) entered the world yesterday. I was fortunate enough to be there. It's pretty awe-inspiring. You can't ever, or I can't, describe what it is like to be a part of a life coming into this world. I was there with Tonio, I was there with Ethan. I was there for a friend of mine a lifetime ago. It is the most amazing thing to witness. If the word honor belonged anywhere it'd be there.
It has been wonderful to watch Joshua through this, I am so happy for him. Seeing his face, watching him watch Aiden, pretty indescribable.
Last evening I came home to the house completely quiet, the baby had been born, the kids were at the hospital. It was only the dogs and me. Ok the dogs, the horses, the cat, and me. You get it, it was quiet.
I sat in the barn, where the best thinking happens, and thought about this little one that was gracing our family. I remembered my Uncle Tim who had just left. I remembered walking through the front room the evening that my Uncle left and saying flippantly to the kids that they had to change the baby's name now to include Timothy. I don't even know why it came out of my mouth, somewhere I knew I'd not make the service and goodness knows I wanted to honor him in some way... It was a flip remark born out of the grief that I knew was headed my way. Shortly after I made the announcement I felt the need to apologize, I certainly didn't want to dictate this little one's name. It stuck though because Mr. Aiden Donovan Timothy McCormick was welcomed into the world yesterday. I think I will always be grateful that they felt the need to honor him by including Timothy in Aiden's name.
Tonight as I drove home from the hospital I had a million things to share, at least four examples of growth over the last so many months. I was gonna write!
I got home and all that brilliance went the way of the wind and I ended up sitting here researching the origin of "coon's age". By researching I do, of course, mean getting lost on google.
It's hard to lay it out there, even here, when the truth is as heavy as it is lately. So I babble, artfully when I am lucky (or delusional in my assessment).
I miss my uncle. He was truly one of the very few genuine people I've been blessed with in my lifetime. I am still so very sorry I could not be there when everyone gathered to honor his life. I feel fragmented by it, or rather, I feel the fragments of my relationships more acutely than I am comfortable with. A lot of my family was able to gather and celebrate the love they shared for him and I was at home shoveling shit, literally. Note how miserable that sounds. Fact is I could not be there because I had to be here for Aiden and the shit I was shoveling belonged to beings that I love beyond reason; neither is miserable. Still I wanted to hug my grandmother and lay eyes on my cousin whom I hadn't seen in a "coon's age" and let her know I "got it". I'm not convinced that it would have made either feel better, it might have made me feel better. It's hard to say.
It was a tough one for me, still is. It's all a bit mixed up. You know that room that belongs to the teenager that finally got a lock on her door and with a fever made a mess no one could see through? That's about where my mind is; loving the mess but being blind to much beyond it, the good, bad, ugly, and everything in between blending about.
It doesn't make for good writing and it makes about as much sense as saying "a coon's age" and / or waxing poetic where frogs are concerned.
And I illustrate why I have not written.
My son found me a few days ago in the barn writing on a notepad and mentioned that I only write when I am "bothered". I kinda smiled my "how I wish you knew me better" smile and reminded him that the only time I could write with any success is when I wasn't "bothered". He pretended to understand what I was saying and I let my mind drift off into some silliness that involved frogs or horse supplements.
A lot like I am doing now, which is why it's been a coon's age; I spent a few hours researching the meaning/origin of that one before deciding on the expression (god love google).
My second grandson (Aiden) entered the world yesterday. I was fortunate enough to be there. It's pretty awe-inspiring. You can't ever, or I can't, describe what it is like to be a part of a life coming into this world. I was there with Tonio, I was there with Ethan. I was there for a friend of mine a lifetime ago. It is the most amazing thing to witness. If the word honor belonged anywhere it'd be there.
It has been wonderful to watch Joshua through this, I am so happy for him. Seeing his face, watching him watch Aiden, pretty indescribable.
Last evening I came home to the house completely quiet, the baby had been born, the kids were at the hospital. It was only the dogs and me. Ok the dogs, the horses, the cat, and me. You get it, it was quiet.
I sat in the barn, where the best thinking happens, and thought about this little one that was gracing our family. I remembered my Uncle Tim who had just left. I remembered walking through the front room the evening that my Uncle left and saying flippantly to the kids that they had to change the baby's name now to include Timothy. I don't even know why it came out of my mouth, somewhere I knew I'd not make the service and goodness knows I wanted to honor him in some way... It was a flip remark born out of the grief that I knew was headed my way. Shortly after I made the announcement I felt the need to apologize, I certainly didn't want to dictate this little one's name. It stuck though because Mr. Aiden Donovan Timothy McCormick was welcomed into the world yesterday. I think I will always be grateful that they felt the need to honor him by including Timothy in Aiden's name.
Tonight as I drove home from the hospital I had a million things to share, at least four examples of growth over the last so many months. I was gonna write!
I got home and all that brilliance went the way of the wind and I ended up sitting here researching the origin of "coon's age". By researching I do, of course, mean getting lost on google.
It's hard to lay it out there, even here, when the truth is as heavy as it is lately. So I babble, artfully when I am lucky (or delusional in my assessment).
I miss my uncle. He was truly one of the very few genuine people I've been blessed with in my lifetime. I am still so very sorry I could not be there when everyone gathered to honor his life. I feel fragmented by it, or rather, I feel the fragments of my relationships more acutely than I am comfortable with. A lot of my family was able to gather and celebrate the love they shared for him and I was at home shoveling shit, literally. Note how miserable that sounds. Fact is I could not be there because I had to be here for Aiden and the shit I was shoveling belonged to beings that I love beyond reason; neither is miserable. Still I wanted to hug my grandmother and lay eyes on my cousin whom I hadn't seen in a "coon's age" and let her know I "got it". I'm not convinced that it would have made either feel better, it might have made me feel better. It's hard to say.
It was a tough one for me, still is. It's all a bit mixed up. You know that room that belongs to the teenager that finally got a lock on her door and with a fever made a mess no one could see through? That's about where my mind is; loving the mess but being blind to much beyond it, the good, bad, ugly, and everything in between blending about.
It doesn't make for good writing and it makes about as much sense as saying "a coon's age" and / or waxing poetic where frogs are concerned.
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