An old family cat requires as much attention as a young child. Special food, companionship when it is time for an afternoon nap, and reassurance that you haven’t left for good when you have simply left the room.
A heated bed in my office for a old kitty’s comfort.
Hypersensitivity: The littlest things can bring such joy or can bring you to your knees. I have been told it gets easier. Yesterday the profound realization hit me, sometimes the kid never comes back. I imagine for some families it never gets easier for them – just less sensitive.
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Enormous rainstorms, the gully-washers that cause flash flood warnings, often bring hail and the threat of tornadoes to the Eastern Plains of Colorado, but fog – dense, mysterious, morning fog – is a rare result of dangerous storms. A gully-washer brewed up just over our home last night. The rain pummeled the ground hard and fast causing the water to runoff rather than soak into the dirt road that dissects our property. Without the deterrent of a muddy road, a walk in the cool morning air was made all the more inviting by the heavy fog that had rolled in overnight. Years ago, I walked and ran in fog so thick that one could see the water droplets flow by on a gentle breeze. Fog of this nature was a frequent occurrence in Virginia, but it is such a rarity in Colorado where fog is usually accompanied by freezing temperatures and biting winds. Quiet, spring fog is an unusual blessing.
Soon my daughter will be moving to Virginia and leaving behind the aired climate she has always known. Today’s foggy sunrise provided a wonderful way to introduce her to the joys of running in fog so thick that a well-known road becomes a mystical path into the unknown.
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Many years ago, when my daughter was still very young, my husband and I were given two enormous, white, couch pillows. Crayons in hand, my daughter without my permission turned one of the pillows into her canvas. In reflection, I must admit that on that day so many years ago I was clueless as to how much fun coloring on fabric could be. Now all these years later, I chuckle when I think of the bins, tubs, and boxes of paints, dyes, inks, and crayons that I have supplied my daughter; all of which she uses with my permission to color cotton, wool, and silk fabric.
Fabric Marbling with Dye
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My son has left on his long awaited mission. It is natural that I miss his company, his smile, and his laughter. However, what I really miss is him finding all the stuff I misplace. I really miss saying goodnight to him. I really miss hearing him talk to his sister long after my husband and I turn in for the night. I really miss waking him up in the morning after he has chosen to ignore his alarm clock. And I really miss his hugs that he still gives despite being grown.
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One day they are little and the days are long. Then before you can catch your breath, they are grown and the days seem unfairly short. Confident and sure, they are ready to embark on the adventurous journey of adult life. Having done your job, a job well done due to the endless hours and days in which your frustration, tears, and worry threatened to overshadow the precious moments of their youth, you watch as they pack their bags and depart from the safety of your home. As they wave goodbye, you pray for an assurance greater than the confidence that has inspired their departure.
Peace descends upon you as you pray and calms the emotional storm that threatens your composure, sanity, and well-being. You know with a certainty that you did your job day after day. You did it well through sacrifice, gritty determination, and boundless love. Although the daily chaos will settle into memory, you realize the journey is not over because you did your job and you did it well. You are a mom.
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Give yourself permission to celebrate when it is done, even if the celebration is a simple as getting caught up on rest.
Oh yeah – I passed with distinction!!!!
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As much as I dearly love my 97 page thesis, it has become quite tiresome to read it again, and again, and again.
However, on a positive note, the fibro fog with which I so often struggle makes each reading interesting because I quite frequently feel surprised at what I have written.
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Determining what is a secondary and what is a primary source becomes quite difficult when the secondary source expresses an opinion or observation of the period from which it is written. The source may be secondary in nature, but the opinion becomes primary.
Separating the sources in to primary versus secondary for my bibliography is becoming a huge task! The majority of my secondary sources are actually being used as primary sources.
Again, I am seeing the value of researching a dead dude or a battle – so much less confusion!
I did not make this thesis thing easy – but it has been enlightening.
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When writing a conclusion – conclude, stop, halt, finish, walk away… let it rest.
…oh, and ignore the voice in your head that is telling you to write more or that what you have written is garbage.
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Pithy Ponderings 