Me: Circa 2002

Revelations

Last night, I spent the night watching the first few episodes of season two of Desperate Housewives and drinking from the perpetual box of wine in my fridge. I spread some love around the internet, let some people in on some (not-so wise) wisdom, and generally felt like an ass all day long for the things I can't quite remember I did late last night.

Tonight, I went to see a few old friends and ended up catching up with more than I can count. I saw someone I'd been nervous to see again, and things went well. I got five unexpected hugs. I met somebody new, someone who could be a friend. I met someone I knew from a long time ago, but didn't really know. I saw two people I haven't seen in at least three years, one I hadn't seen in six or seven, and I drank three Sundrops. I had an awesome time. Apart from being completely wired on the sugariest soda known to man, I'm feeling very very good. I didn't say anything I won't remember saying tonight, and I certainly didn't say anything I'll regret. I helped a girl keep track of her purse. Tonight was good.

I've got some thinking to do.

On My Mind

On my to-do list

In my yard

Bruce and I discussed bringing another soul into the family (forgive me, I just rewatched the first season of Big Love), and we decided we're ready for it. A kitten is just what the doctor ordered. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on your POV), there always seem to be kittens in need of a good home. Lisa's mom's cat just had a litter (today!) and as soon as they're big enough, I'll get to take my favorite home to meet the Linus. Fingers crossed that the Linus won't mind too much.

I was turning off the lights and double-checking the locks tonight before I came in to write this, and I was amazed all of a sudden at how completely happy I really am. Sure, some things could be better. Bruce could be here, the house could be clean, what have you, but those things don't really matter very much in the long run.

Bruce is gone because it's a fantastic opportunity for him to do what he's been working towards for years now, for great pay and benefits. He's not away all of the time, and the time he is away he's getting to spend time with his best friend whom he's seen far too little of in the past year. He was stagnant working from home all the time. The work he's doing, will get to do with his new job is exciting. I love to hear him excited. The house? I'll clean it later.

I'm very happy. I love my husband more every day, whether he's here or in Missouri. I have a wonderful family, most of whom I love very much. I'm going to be an aunt at the end of the summer. There's a Mr. and Mrs. Mallard Duck who eat corn under my feeder almost every day. In a few weeks, they might bring their babies by. My brother is coming to visit this weekend. I have curtains on my windows. The birds like my yard, and for that matter, so do the bunnies. My neighbors are nice, and they crack jokes at me when I'm in the yard. I have a garden that is growing green things to my great surprise. I have a warm cat on my lap and a dog who will be very excited that it's bedtime in a few minutes. My family is healthy and strong. My life is good, and I am a full person.

Home Alone

Without the aftershave. That's right, I'm home alone, and will be for the next little while. (Two weeks? Knowing would make it a little easier, that's for sure.)

I'm going to try to stay sane, find things to do, read lots of books, garden and maybe get a new kitten. How's that for keeping busy?

Yesterday Bruce and I had to drive to Green Bay to pick up his Greyhound ticket (yes, he went Greyhound). On the drive back home, I begged him to go to the cheese factory. We came up a little short on it, because I didn't know it was coming up, and we didn't make the turn. I was sad. Bruce said, "You do know I'm coming back, right? I promise I'm coming back."

Of course I cried. How come that guy knows what I'm thinking even when I don't?

Food for Birds

My grandpas on either side were avid birdfeeders. On my Dad's side, Grandpa Roy would sit for hours at the big picture window in the kitchen, cursing the squirrels and formulating new methods for keeping the bigger more aggressive birds from his precious songbirds. He kept feeders for all kinds of birds, from the cardinals and jays to the smaller finches. He had feeders for orioles and hummingbirds, and kept houses around the yard for them to use for their nests.

Grandpa Del kept a smaller station, feeding an equally wide assortment of birds. His phillosophy was a little more live-and-let-live, and he read up on his birds, knowing the nesting habits and calls of most of the varieties in our neck of the woods. He had an encyclopedia in his head, and would gladly share all that information with me, if I cared to listen. I did, even though I was young and my patience was short. Grandpa Del had a stutter. To make himself better-understood, he'd often talk slowly and carefully, but his words held much wisdom. I was older when we lost Grandpa Del, and so my memories of him are more vivid. I wish I had these kinds of memories of Grandpa Roy, but I treasure the ones I do keep, and hold them close to me.

For a few weeks, I've been feeding my neighborhood birds. I love seeing their little habits and I'm amazed at how much I remember from my talks with my grandpas. I've been reading up on them, too. My Dad knows that, and last weekend when we were at Grandma's house, he showed me some homemade feeders Grandpa Roy had built. He told me to take one home, maybe fix it up. He told me Grandpa would be so proud. He choked up a bit.

Part of me fought not to fix up the feeder. I thought that every time I looked at it, I'd be reminded of how it was built by Grandpa, and how special that would make it. I realized, though, that I'd be remembering that however it looked. By cleaning it up and painting it a bit, it would be that much more attractive to the neighborhood. Grandpa would be all the more proud of it.

I'm painting it blue. As I paint, I think about how the brush that stained it red was held by Grandpa Roy. I think about the knawed-on bottom and how rough it is to paint, and think about him cursing the squirrels that did it. It makes me mist up a little bit.