Friday, November 28th.
I spent the afternoon traveling to Muncie, Indiana. Not to celebrate what should be a wonderful holiday with family and friends, but to attend the funeral of James Patrick Wilhoite, 37. He passed away on Sunday morning, the 23rd of November, of a heart attack.
Jim was the husband of my good friend Tanya, and father of their 2 young girls, Hannah (12) and Virginia (9). He was a wonderful man, a good father and husband and larger than life. I am still dumbfounded with the shock of Tanya's loss. I can feel her desolation and grief clear across the state. I was resolute to be stong and remote during the viewing for Tanya, but never made it passed her parents before losing it. Tanya was well tranquilized with pharmacuticals. Her two daughters were in the lounge with others their age, avoiding the viewing. Ironically She was the one comforting me during our hugs.
Life is incredibly unfair....
Yet, fate and karma will lead us, willing or not into what they have planned for us.
Tanya has always been a wonderfully intelligent, independant woman, and will continue to be so. My wish for her is peace and understanding, and finally with time, love of life.
My holiday's have been subdued to say the least.
Our mutual friend Kristy will be here on the 12th of December. Flying in from Texas while her husband has finally returned home from working abroad to be with the kids, and hopefully, spend time with Kristy as well.
I am ecstatic that she is coming. Kristy is the one with humor in her soul. She will be needed.
I am also looking forward to seeing Maria and John from Arkansas, should they come this way for the holidays.
I'm keeping my head above the turbulent emotional waters. The sun was shining at least for the last 2 days. Bringing feeble warmth to my bones. I look forward to my annual trips to the tanning bed for Light Therapy. That should improve my mood.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Early mornings
I awoke to Jim coming home from work. He crawls into bed. His skin is cold, unusual except when he is riding the motorcycle or bike. I ask him about it. He says, "...because it's been snowing all night... It's cold outside".
I ask if there's snow on the ground. He tells me, "There isn't, just a dusting on vehicles".
I am not ready for winter. I have not collected enough nuts.
After Jim gets to sleep, I get up and feed the cat, start the coffee and stare aimlessly out of the kitchen window into the woods. I smell the crisp, oily smell of the coffee dripping. My thoughts wander...
I wonder if the hunters will be back out into the south woods again today, or did they get their fill of venison yesterday? I randomly think of how I remember my grandmother Rose standing just like this in her cabin in Michigan, In her robe, looking out of the window, waiting on the coffee, looking at the birds at the feeder she had just filled.
My Grandmother Rose had the most wonderful bird feeders. She would tend them several times a day, I can remember the rainbow hued finches that would flit about her house when we would visit. There was an almost magical charm to her cabin in the woods that I will never forget.
I stare out at our summer neglected bird feeder on the back deck railing. It's mossy green roof roof and it's scratched plastic sides staring balefully back at me. I can see a spider has taken up residence inside by the frosty webs filled with maple leaves that can be seen through those scratched up plastic sides.
I see the barest of motions on the deck below the birdfeeder, there sits the first bird of the season, waiting for it's winter meal. A mourning dove. It's lavender-grey plumage speckled here and there with a small black lozenge.
I smile, knowing it was time to start the annual tradition that brings me so much joy in the hush of morning. I turn and get the bag of birdfeed I had purchased a few weeks before at the floundering Thifty farm supply store. I hoist it's weight and head for the feeder. I clean out the spider from it's hopeful winter home, rake out the leaves with a flourish and fill it up with the small orange and black seeds that will inevitably sprout under the deck in the spring.
Before I turn to head for the house, I look out into the woods, seeing that dove waiting for me to get back inside, out of it's domain.
I hoist what was left of the birdfeed, stash it in the cat room, go in and get my coffee. Then, I sit down to wait.
I ask if there's snow on the ground. He tells me, "There isn't, just a dusting on vehicles".
I am not ready for winter. I have not collected enough nuts.
After Jim gets to sleep, I get up and feed the cat, start the coffee and stare aimlessly out of the kitchen window into the woods. I smell the crisp, oily smell of the coffee dripping. My thoughts wander...
I wonder if the hunters will be back out into the south woods again today, or did they get their fill of venison yesterday? I randomly think of how I remember my grandmother Rose standing just like this in her cabin in Michigan, In her robe, looking out of the window, waiting on the coffee, looking at the birds at the feeder she had just filled.
My Grandmother Rose had the most wonderful bird feeders. She would tend them several times a day, I can remember the rainbow hued finches that would flit about her house when we would visit. There was an almost magical charm to her cabin in the woods that I will never forget.
I stare out at our summer neglected bird feeder on the back deck railing. It's mossy green roof roof and it's scratched plastic sides staring balefully back at me. I can see a spider has taken up residence inside by the frosty webs filled with maple leaves that can be seen through those scratched up plastic sides.
I see the barest of motions on the deck below the birdfeeder, there sits the first bird of the season, waiting for it's winter meal. A mourning dove. It's lavender-grey plumage speckled here and there with a small black lozenge.
I smile, knowing it was time to start the annual tradition that brings me so much joy in the hush of morning. I turn and get the bag of birdfeed I had purchased a few weeks before at the floundering Thifty farm supply store. I hoist it's weight and head for the feeder. I clean out the spider from it's hopeful winter home, rake out the leaves with a flourish and fill it up with the small orange and black seeds that will inevitably sprout under the deck in the spring.
Before I turn to head for the house, I look out into the woods, seeing that dove waiting for me to get back inside, out of it's domain.
I hoist what was left of the birdfeed, stash it in the cat room, go in and get my coffee. Then, I sit down to wait.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
VOTE- it's your right to choose
It's your choice America.
No matter what you do, or who you vote for. VOTE!
"I'm asking you to believe. Not just in my ability to bring about real change in Washington... I'm asking you to believe in yours."
-Barack Obama
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