Have you ever had the experience of driving along somewhere, maybe on the way to work or on a trip, and see something completely, stunningly beautiful? The most common reaction is an awed “wow…” That is, if you’re not busy driving, texting, applying mascara and singing along with the radio.
When I come across one of those moments I stop. Usually jump out of the car and wield my trusty camera.
a new view
palms
pink and yellow and blue all over
getting darker
my tree
goodnight sun
Today my grandma would have celebrated her 80th birthday. Ever since she passed in March of this year I’ve been thinking about milestones. The first wedding anniversary my Grandpa would spend alone in over 60 years. The first time I would not get to tell her Happy Birthday. Thanksgiving. Christmas.
Those thoughts can be completely overwhelming if I let them take hold. I can’t change the past. If I could, I don’t know that I would want to. In her final weeks Grandma was so weak, in so much pain. Even before that time she was filled with worry and doubt, Alzheimer’s stealing the peace she usually had.
So, if I can’t go back, I must go forward. Alone. Or at least lonelier.
And then there’s the fear. The undercurrent to thinking about her disease is the fear my mom will get it. I will get it. That my future is a journey through the mist that obscures all things.
Last night I went out to the cemetery but this time I didn’t linger too much. To some degree I accept that pain of losing her, while it may diminish in time, is permanent. Death is permanent. And it sucks.
three generations
This was Mom, Grandma and myself celebrating her 79th birthday last year.
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It’s Friday and although I worked 3 days and now I have 5 days of vacation, it’s a good time to recap what I’ve learned this week. This is, by the way, what it sounds like to be in my head. Just a warning.
*
Working for 38 hours in 3 days is insane.
I am apparently insane.
Vacation time is worth its weight in gold.
Can you weigh time?
I once measured the speed of sound.
One nanosecond equals a size seven woman’s shoe or a J. Day forearm.
This information is brought to you by all-nighters in college.
When gallons of milk are two for the price of one you should buy it.
Even if you’re single, live alone and rarely drink milk.
You can freeze milk.
More importantly, you can defrost milk.
Defrosted milk tastes fine.
This is straw, NOT hay.
STRAW!
Thank you wikipedia!
Straw looks light and fluffy, doesn’t it?
Straw is heavy.
Straw bales are hella heavy.
The easiest way to move a straw bale, absent your friend Hercules dropping by, is to roll it.
I now have much more appreciation of this guy:
this is a sport?
Except the kilt. I will continue to mock the kilt.
But this was not the example I wanted.
Googling “scottish guys roll heavy crap” will return few usable images.
There are a number of male scottish rock and roll bands.
And they have websites.
The ‘sport’ I was attempting in rolling bales of straw is called grappling.
No thanks to wikipedia.
Googling “crazy people who lift heavy shit” will remind you to lift with your legs, not your back.
Thanks Google, thanks a lot.
Lifting heavy things for fun or sport is called grappling.
this is a grappler
Yes, his beard is kissing the giant rock.
This is me rolling a straw bale
<!–[if !mso]> <! st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } –>
Right… you think I’d get a picture of that?
You’re crazy.
Apparently Googling “no image available” in their image search does not cause the space/time continuum disruption I was hoping.
Alas.
This is my backyard pre-straw:
pit of dispair
This is my backyard post-straw:
pit of dispair covered with straw!
Straw is an excellent mulch.
Mulch is a funny word.
45 minutes of raking wet leaves and distributing straw is hard work.
I’m halfway done with strawing the backyard.
Only because my compost bin is full.
And my back started to hurt.
Compost goes out on Tuesday.
I can get right back to project strawing next weekend.
If the weather holds.
Who thinks I can train my dogs to walk on the un-muddy half of a backyard?
Me neither.
