Tonight, I would like to be a lightning bug and join the other lightning bugs, doing the things they do.
I would like to flit around in the dark near the tree tops so that sleepy-eyed humans can lay in their beds, looking out their windows, and wonder if that's really a lightning bug, or if it's a space ship coming to Earth, or a star that appears to be moving because it's shining through tree branches, or maybe a celestial event that's never been seen before.
Actually, I think tonight I would like to be a space lightning bug and join the other space lightning bugs in space, doing the things they do.
I would like to flit around the outskirts of distant Magellanic clouds, or whiz through super massive black holes to see where they lead, or find other life forms on distant worlds. Maybe I'd even find other creatures with lights in their butts and we could have a light-butt concert.
Or maybe, just maybe, I should step away from the keyboard and put myself in bed before something crazy comes out of my mind, like politics or something.
zzzzzz...
Sunday, June 07, 2015
Monday, January 12, 2015
78
Today would have been the 78th birthday of my Mother, Queen Rose, Ma, Mom...
It has been a tearful day for me. I've allowed myself the day to feel whatever I felt fully and wholeheartedly. I took the whole day off and spent it with my Dad and my sister. We visited the beautiful bench where the ashes of Queen Rose reside. We took flowers - I selected some small, dark red roses because they resembled garnets, her birth stone. Dad selected some big pink daisy-like flowers because they were pretty.
We set them on the bench along with the Christmas arrangement Ann and I selected for the holidays, the silk and gold roses that my niece left when she came earlier this month, and with the rose bush my oldest sister left there earlier this morning before returning to Georgia.
The three of us - Dad, Ann and I - stood in the rain and told her how we love her and miss her. Dad went back to the car first, fearing he might break down completely if he stood there any longer. Ann stood in the rain trying to take pictures for the family to see on the Facebook page I created when Mom was so sick. I took the crazy umbrella (that blew into our yard after a storm) out of the back of the car and held it over her so she could get a picture without raindrops.
We got back in the car and went to IHOP to have some lunch - the same place we went the day we had her Memorial Service - the one that's just around the corner from the house we all called home until a few years ago. We didn't go by the house. Dad said there was nothing left of us to see there since he sold it. Ann and I didn't want to see it anyway. Our emotions were already strung very high; we didn't need to feel that much more.
We came back home and things sort of returned to normal. Ann had to take care of things for her and Mark. I tried to take a nap, but ended up piddling around until I decided to check on one of Dad's meds. After taking care of that, I had other important things to do for myself. We gathered for a soul-warming dinner of beef stew that Ann and I made together; we had desert, did our evening rituals of caring for Dad and cleaning up, and we all said goodnight. And now each of us finally has that quiet time alone to have a few minutes, hours, or centuries to mourn in our individual ways. I guess mine is putting in writing the minutia of my day. For what it's worth, it helps me. Thank you for your time.
It has been a tearful day for me. I've allowed myself the day to feel whatever I felt fully and wholeheartedly. I took the whole day off and spent it with my Dad and my sister. We visited the beautiful bench where the ashes of Queen Rose reside. We took flowers - I selected some small, dark red roses because they resembled garnets, her birth stone. Dad selected some big pink daisy-like flowers because they were pretty.
We set them on the bench along with the Christmas arrangement Ann and I selected for the holidays, the silk and gold roses that my niece left when she came earlier this month, and with the rose bush my oldest sister left there earlier this morning before returning to Georgia.
The three of us - Dad, Ann and I - stood in the rain and told her how we love her and miss her. Dad went back to the car first, fearing he might break down completely if he stood there any longer. Ann stood in the rain trying to take pictures for the family to see on the Facebook page I created when Mom was so sick. I took the crazy umbrella (that blew into our yard after a storm) out of the back of the car and held it over her so she could get a picture without raindrops.
We got back in the car and went to IHOP to have some lunch - the same place we went the day we had her Memorial Service - the one that's just around the corner from the house we all called home until a few years ago. We didn't go by the house. Dad said there was nothing left of us to see there since he sold it. Ann and I didn't want to see it anyway. Our emotions were already strung very high; we didn't need to feel that much more.
We came back home and things sort of returned to normal. Ann had to take care of things for her and Mark. I tried to take a nap, but ended up piddling around until I decided to check on one of Dad's meds. After taking care of that, I had other important things to do for myself. We gathered for a soul-warming dinner of beef stew that Ann and I made together; we had desert, did our evening rituals of caring for Dad and cleaning up, and we all said goodnight. And now each of us finally has that quiet time alone to have a few minutes, hours, or centuries to mourn in our individual ways. I guess mine is putting in writing the minutia of my day. For what it's worth, it helps me. Thank you for your time.
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