While strolling through a cemetery on a romantic getaway last weekend, my folks happened upon a tombstone that reminded them of me. (And to those of you out there who may have questioned why I am the way I am, you now have your answer.) Specifically, my dad said, "Think you and Shawn might have gotten along with this couple had your paths crossed in the right time."
“So I hear someone tried to blow up the restaurant next to your office.”
For the record, my mother lives in Napa, not Bosnia.
“Why blow up a Thai restaurant? I mean, there’s two Italian places on every block. Why not take one of those out?”
“Actually, the news story had it wrong. It was closer to the health club.”
“Oh, that makes more sense.”
I dread this part of the year. Christmas, you say? Thanksgiving? Nope. I dig the holidays. My favorite part of the year starts when the leaves to begin to turn colors and ends right after New Years. I love the holidays. What I don’t love is divvying them up.
Sigh... Here we go again.
It’s rough, you know? Everybody wants to go back and sit around that same Christmas tree they had when we were all kids, to shake that little silver sleigh bell and hear it ring again.
I was making lunch in the kitchen and Luke was watching a DVD in the living room. In point of fact, he was watching The Point, a tradition in my family that dates back before my birth. We originally had it on record. (Kids, records were these large black discs that made music before the world was introduced to CDs. Very groovy.)
This was Luke’s first introduction to The Point.
Half way through spreading the peanut butter on the bread, Luke came running into the kitchen.
“Mommy, you have to come help me.”
Shawn and I both entered some of our craft into the county fair this year, so on Friday night we journeyed out to the fair grounds (all of two miles - long trip) to see how we did and enjoy a corn dog or two.
Of my three entries in the textile exhibition, I took two first place ribbons, one in the children’s costume category and the other in the crocheted sweater category:
I walked into a room in my parents’ house at the tail end of a birthday party for family member on Sunday. My cousins were having a conversation in the doorway to the spare room. The dog was crunching up a carrot on the carpet of the playroom floor. The light and the time and the sounds, all suddenly screaming that I had been there before. In this moment. Chiding the dog and cleaning up the carrot bits. My cousins were having that same conversation. I know it. I was there. And not somewhere similar. There.
Huh... Déja vu.
My family’s laughter drifts down the stairwell to my room, sometimes in a single, identifiably-loved voice and sometimes in unison, in the voice that is my family. Downstairs it is quiet and dim. I’m in a rented house on Donner Lake and my young son is lying beside me on a mammoth bed, his eyes heavy with sleep but too stubborn to close.
Everyone please meet my niece, Lily Martine Albin, born December 29th at 7 lbs 5 oz.
I see so much of my sister in her. Isn’t she beautiful?
I forgot how tiny they are in the beginning.
Welcome, little Lily.