I wrote this at work yesterday, just didn’t get a chance to type it up yet.
I received this phantom like on instagram from the person that I presumed gone/dead in a previous post, and it’s messing with my head! What happened to this guy? Maybe he’s still around? I assume…I give up, but I hope that it’s true and that he’s okay. I’m becoming a bit obsessed with death and leaving, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. So, today I want to think about life, and how great it can be. It can be hard, but it always gets better. The feeling of the Holidays, and spending time with family and loved ones. The excitement of putting up a Christmas tree, the smell of homemade cookies baking…yum! Those Holiday feels though. I can remember being little, and having more flour on me then on whatever my great grandma and I were baking at the time. She always baked, and cooked, and always let my sister and I help her on that yellow kitchen table, that I’m proud to say I still have, and will never get rid of it, it has at least 50 years of memories attached to it already, and I intend on adding at least 50 more. I get nostalgia just walking past it everyday. Granny made the best sweets, treats, and homemade chicken noodle soup. Forget the turkey and ham, I’ll take bowl after bowl of granny’s soup. That’s one of the hardest parts of the Holidays now, is something as simple as that soup not being there. Now that Papal has passed too, this years corny joke of “who cut the ham? damn near missed” will hurt hard, but they are together again, mother and son. If Granny were here today, I’d pay more attention to how she cooked, how she baked, how she quilted. These are all things that I wish I knew how to do like her. She was a strong, independent woman, and I get my strength from her. She outlived two husbands, and lived in this house that I live in alone, up until she passed away she was able to do everything her way, and thank God for that because she would not have had it any other way. There are so many good things in life, the feeling of an ice cold pool on a burning hot summers day. When I was a child, I used to stay in Austin for weeks in the summer with my grandparents. They had the best above ground swimming pool, I spent hours in that thing, whole days during the weekend. They both worked during the week, and us kids weren’t allowed to swim without them there. I’ll never forget the bumpy, rocky road on Papal’s property, passed the pond he built, up to the cabin that he built. In my teenage years, I dreaded going, often skipped the trip for sleep, but now that Papal’s gone, I wish I had gone more often. I’m ashamed to admit that it’s been years since I’ve been. I had actually been asking Papal if we could go sometime soon before he passed, but none of us were expecting this to be our last year with him. Life isn’t promised, it can be taken from us at a moments notice. I hope he’s being taken care of up there. He took good care of all of us while he was here, it’s what he deserves, to sit back and kick it in heaven, but I assure he won’t sit still. He’s probably up in heaven building things as I write this. The stillness of an undiscovered creek, a babbling brook, that noise is probably the best noise in the entire universe, to me anyway. That long drink of water after a 10 mile hike that you’ve run out of water on. Oh how I live for that feeling! Getting caught in the rain in New York City, where the city moves so fast, the rain barely slows it down. An empty subway car to yourself, not being in a rush because you are at the will of the conductor. What do I care? It’s not my city, I’m not in a rush. The feeling of traveling makes me happy, being at a place in my life where I can afford to take time off and see the world, I never thought I’d be comfortable enough to do that. The feeling of numb fingers on a keyboard after posting a blog that you had handwritten originally, seeing how ever since you were young, you always liked to write what you were creating, by hand first because that’s where your creativity kicks in.