The Moon and The Stars and The Fog

Good morning! Hello. Probably you can't see me, because of this fog. I'm over here, at my desk, in a dark office, feeling a million miles away. It was foggy yesterday, too. We weren't sure we were going to get Maria to school on time, we were driving so slow, cautiously. And everything is as damp as if it rained. I suggested to Geoff that we could ride our bicycles this morning, and he said let's wait until midday, when the sun is out. Nah! My reluctance to ride under the noon sun is in direct contrast with his disinclination to ride in cold, damp weather. We'll probably ride in the late afternoon, when it's both sunny and cooler. In the meantime, I will blog a little, make our bed, get to the market, bring Maria home, and think about the holidays.

Maybe, I will also sit with Maria, again, as she finishes up her college applications. It's no secret that I am happy to be invited to sit beside her as she fills these forms out. It gets a bit nostalgic, as she recalls classes she's had, and the extracurricular activities she's been involved in. Other times it's a tangle of timelines, and we search our brains (and this blog) for clues about which came first? and where were we when? Can you see? Our cat? Feynman was helping, too.

When I did the big clean-up, I came across the apron I was embroidering on so much last winter. At some point, I had to set it aside, and I sort of forgot all about it. Funny thing, I started to feel that it was silly to put so much work into an article of clothing meant for keeping clean, when I'd be mortified to get it messed up. And furthermore, it needs more embroidery, because the blank spaces are out of balance with the stitched ones. But. But, how can I seroiusly add more effort to something whose purpose is already confounding?

The Moon and Sun, the planets... I loved being immersed in this mindful yet fanciful flight. Every element has meaning, a story, and the stitches told it all in open-ended, inventive interpretations, designs.

And on the pocket, this kitty, hanging his washing. I think this is the last bit I stitched up, before the long break. So. I wonder if I will add something to the other pocket. And what about the middle, which is like a wide open field? An empty field that looks glaring for it's vacancy.

Well, we have the weather for embroidering, so that's nice. And I can be sure I will have company. These last few days, Feynman has elected himself Human Companion, and he settles in on top of anyone, or anything, warm and accomodating.

Yesterday, I was drawing at my table on the balcony, when I heard a Mmmmew. I looked up and spied the tips of two gray ears, and I replied, Feynman. He answered by raising his head and peering down at me. I called his name, again, adding Who's my most handsome kitty?

Here is my handsome kitty, soaking up my affections.

He came in to hear more, then moved over to the bed for a warmer, more accomodating snuggle. I'm sure he's somewhere cozy, now. I might join him, keep him company, and think about the holidays. I have been at this for a few days, and I am enjoying it very much, the ideas, and dates, the plans, and hopes. It's a good foggy morning pastime, planning our activities, imagining what we will do during winter break, anticipating the visits with family, the traditions we have, and new things we might include.

Post Script

Not a day goes by when I don't think of my beloved Grandmother, our Grandma Jones. She is on my shoulder, over my heart, in my head. She guides me, pulls me forward, coaxes me to rally, informs my resolve, inspires me to tap into my courage, see the beauty. It's constant... loving her, missing her, replaying all of the moments, and instances of goodness that I had the honor and pleasure of enjoying with her, because of her. I was aware that the anniversary of her passing was imminent. It does not feel any easier to accept, any less sad. She lived a long life, that was good. I still feel a bit riled, kind of greedy, unreasonable, when it's suggested that a good, long life is all we can ask for, that it's a consolation. I just want her. I still just want her.

I finished this post, and my phone pinged, a message from my Mom. It was four years ago, today, she reminded me. And even though I knew the anniversary was coming up, I wasn't thinking of it, yet, not when I was blogging. I read the sweet message from my Mom, then looked back at my computer screen, thinking, I didn't mention Eunice, or this day, its significance, and then I looked closer and saw something... something I am aware of everyday. She's there, even when I am not deliberating writing about her, or focused on her, she is here. I posted the yellow flowers that I had had this pressing compulsion to photograph minutes ago, when coming home from dropping off Maria. Yellow flowers are Eunice, they belong to Grandmother. That's always how I see it. Cats, and owls and embroidery, aprons, and making everyday things beautiful... all of those are Eunice, to me. And that's her quilt on our bed, where the kitty is warm and comfortable. And thinking of holidays, of family gathering, and feeling sentimental, nostalgic, yet cheered by the prospect of pretty things, and spiritual joy, courage and pleasure in the face of challenges, resolve... those are her, too. Those plans and hopes, and memories, are dearer, and more cherished, because Eunice is on my shoulder, a part of my heart, in my thoughts. And Mommy, I love you. Weren't we the most fortunate? I am thinking of you, and feeling sad, as well as blessed. I know you will find pretty things in nature, in memories, and find her there, too.