Today was a randomly warm and windy February day. It was so windy that both door closers on the storm doors at Kelley Ridge broke. It is very windy up on the Ridge. I am waiting for the oak flooring to arrive for the main floor living area, and then after it is laid, the main floor will be basically finished except for painting, light fixtures, and finishing touches that I can do. At 4th Street we are working on the downstairs bedroom and bath. The plumber says he is finished, but I don’t like a few things that he did so I am going to be the b#$%^y lady who is never satisfied before I will pay him. Joe used to complain about people like me. Actually, Joe used to complain about me.

I don’t know why I couldn’t write for a while. Christmas was and then it wasn’t 2005 any more. Suddenly I had to have a reason to be in 2006, and somehow I couldn’t find it. Hey you out there, do you know your reason to be? Do you recognize it when you see it? Claim it.

My three ships are in–Brendan from L-ville, Ian from Glendale, Caitlan from England. They are my comfort, my support, my purpose. They are unconditional love. They breathe Wayne and reflect the influence of Joe. They are the immortality of a special union.

Amazingly, it was a good day. We awoke late, having been to Midnight Mass the night before. Caitlan and I sang for the last time at St. Mark as Kyle, Brendan, and Ian watched and sang with us from the pews. There was a harpist and after my experience with harp music on Thursday, it was especially meaningful. Father Jim sang the eucharistic prayer beautifully. We saw Jackie and Bob. Now I can move on in 2006. It is the right time.

We opened our stockings and invited Greg Brown into the house (he thought it was GREG DAY because he got three dog biscuits at once). Then we ate our traditional Christmas snacking brunch–pistachios, shrimp cocktail with Ritz crackers and cream cheese, fruit, smoked edam, cookies, sweets, Spanish peanuts, chips with jalapeno cheese dip, summer sausage and pepperoni, and buckeyes. We opened presents and played games. I am now a totally tech mom with an MP3 player the size of a Bic lighter that Brendan says is “it that cannot be named.” Now I have no excuses for not walking my 11+ miles per week to get rid of my belly fat. Greg will like that.

Then we went for a late dinner at the McBrayers with much laughter and camaraderie. Some things are meant to last. We played a rousing session of OUTBURST with the glasses vs. the no-glasses (Frank was kind of in between), and the no-glasses won, but not by much. We all went to see NARNIA (except for Frank who was on call), and I really enjoyed it. I was not sure that a movie could do the book justice, but I think it did. Then back home (to Deb’s–thanks, friend) for Ian to go play with his buddies, and Caitlan to fall asleep reading her new Garth Nix book, and Brendan and me to play dominoes (only one game–we got too tired). I fixed Brendan Cadbury hot chocolate that KK brought from England, and I had some of Deb’s Earl Gray/lavender tea. We called Mombo and Pops & Edie and wished them Merry Christmas.
A blessed day.

We picked up Ian and Brendan in Louisville and went to the North End Cafe for breakfast with Yale. We ate pork tenderloin, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce and peas. We are at Deb’s. My kids are home. It is good.

Poem: Excerpt of “Christmas” by George Herbert. Public Domain.

“Christmas”

The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be?

My God, No hymn for thee?

My soul’s a shepherd too: a flock it feeds

Of thoughts, and words, and deeds.

The pasture is thy word; the streams, thy grace

Enriching all the place.

Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers

Out-sing the daylight hours.

Then we sill chide the sun for letting night

Take up his place and right:

We will sing one common Lord; wherefore he should

Himself the candle hold.

I will go searching, till I find a sun

Shall stay, till we have done;

A willing shiner that shall shine as gladly,

As frost-nipped suns look sadly,

Then we will sing, and shine all our own day,

And one another pay:

His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine,

Till ev’n his beams sing, and my music shine.

I was driving in the car and I had on THE WORLD from PRI and Lisa Mullins was interviewing Aine Minogue, a Celtic harpist who has released a cd of Celtic lamentations. And I realized they were talking to me about my grief. She said that universally cultures grieve for a year and then move on after twelve months and a day. Then she read a beautiful poem called BLESSINGS by John O’Donohoe. Then, as I heard the poem, I knew it was God. Brendan recorded the podcast on a cd for me. I will listen to it often.

I’m staying at Deb’s and I was flipping through the direct tv channels and there was TRULY, MADLY, DEEPLY again. The movie that haunts and comforts me. The first time I saw it was after Wayne had died and I couldn’t sleep and at 4 a.m. I turned on the Disney Channel and there were Juliet Stevenson and Alan Rickman and it all made sense.

Slushy, rainy, snow-mess day. Not freezing on the roads yet, but Caitlan and I stayed in town at Sharon’s house, just in case the roads may be bad in the a.m. Caitlan went to Louisville Tile to pick up the last of the ceramic tile for the main flooor at Kelley Ridge. Things are advancing, but still no heat pump installation. I think we picked the wrong guy. Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Blessed be her holy name. Sharon cooked veggie beef soup, corn chowder, and my favorite–bread pudding with rum sauce. She knows how to treat me.

‘Nuff said.

I have a wonderful aunt and uncle (actually I have several wonderful aunts and uncles) who treated me to a trip to England last summer. My friend and cohort, Sharon, accompanied us, and I had the time of my life. If their intent was to bring me out of the doldrums, they succeeded. With the current situation at S.M., I find myself needing another pick-me-up, so I have decided to record my journal from that adventure. It will take a while, but I will try to post old entries simultaneously with new ones. If you’d like to read them, just step with Sherman and Mr. Peabody into the WAY-BACK MACHINE and dial up last July.

Deb and I had our last rug hooking class tonight. It was a welcome relief to finish. I’m afraid we just didn’t fit in. I think we both wanted something that would occupy our hands while resulting in something at least moderately productive. In all these weeks I am still not finished with a 10″ by 8″ rectangle. On the other hand, the women there pump out rugs like they are from the Orient. One lady doesn’t even hook–she just comes along for the camraderie and crochets the whole time (another things I can’t do). They are all very friendly and the conversation is enjoyable, but when it comes to feeling competent at this craft, I’m somewhere near Cheetah.

I love using my body. My brother came over early today and fixed the stovepipe for my woodstove while I moved big pieces of cherry lumber that KK and I stored in a hobbit hole above the steps. It was heavy, but I did it. Then we borrowed my dairy farmer neighbor’s Bobcat, and Jeff dug up and leveled old gravel piles by the barn and made a turnaround place by the house. I moved old barnsiding and helped rake the gravel. It felt so good to use my cheerios muscles. I have too much neurotic work ethic to think I have a right to just walk for the sake of keeping my body in shape or to de-stress, but I can do it if I have to walk the dog or go to the post office and save gas. But it’s even better if I can actually do work outside like cutting wood or gardening or mowing or building. Today was just cold enough–the type of day Joe would have wanted to cut wood. I loved helping him and Wayne cut wood. It made me feel useful. I felt useful today with Jeff. It’s so hard for me to motivate myself when I’m alone. I want to keep my body moving, even though I hurt afterwards because I’m older. It’s worth it. Joe and I used to say we wanted to be the next Helen and Scott. But it’s hard to be a Helen without a Scott. I saw a newsclip yesterday about a 90 year old man in England who still plays rugby. He says he will play until he is 95 and then he will take up golf. When he ran around, he looked like he ran like a ninety-year-old man. But how do we know what a ninety-year-old man looks like when he runs? Have you ever seen one? I have not. Anyway, he didn’t just run–he head-butted other player in the stomach. I want to be a head-butter when I’m ninety.