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2006-08-11 - 7:59 p.m. Soft weather Summer sits softly on my back deck, no bite of heat or humidity, just a tiny breeze making sunset shadows dance through the leaves. It�s almost enough to believe the word�s of Louie Armstrong�s What a Wonderful World currently playing on the Mac. The Jack-and-diet-coke and Roland rubbing my shoulders is a huge step in helping that along. Some days, I do not deserve the Roland. Some days, he doesn�t deserve me. I�m pretty sure that�s the crux of marriage. Two days back at work. Seven and a half days without our cat, trying to adjust to the silence and space, to closet doors that stay closed, front doors that don�t have to. To the loss of hundred intimate and treasured things that sound silly to say out loud. We cleaned the house, and I wept when I put back the rugs. You see, we have a rug in front of the litter box. But there�s no point in it being there anymore. I put it back anyway. I cannot thank all our friends enough for the phone calls, emails, g-book notes, cards and flowers. It�s really and truly helped. Especially perfect was this: When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. -Kahlil Gibran Thanks Mike and Cosette. (Frightening holistic - and funny for reasons Cosette, Mike and ten other people will understand � Target has Bubba Ho-tep on sale.) Grief is a process; for me, mostly a private one. But I always end up doing three things: acquiring comfort food; cleaning to (re)gain control and perform the sorrowful duty of removing things no longer needed; and seeking life, which occasionally traumatizes Roland. Thursday, we buried our Garibaldi; put away his toys and bedding. Friday, we did a half-assed job cleaning the house. Saturday, I made sausage balls and garlic grits, promptly eating too many grits. Sunday, we rested. Hibernation and sleeping. Monday, I succumbed to cabin fever and chivved Roland into going walkabout. We overfed Alan�s koi and enjoyed the peaceful, burbling pond for an hour, then drove randomly following a vague northward route and my impulses as to where to stop. This led us to: An art gallery run by a retired engineer and the acquisition a beautiful painting of autumn. Stopping by a back road to walk a cemetery. (Howard Chapel Cemetery: "In 1862, the cemetery became the burial ground of the Ancestors of the original African American Community of Howard Chapel.") (This amused Roland because my father is a cemeterian and I�ve often bemoaned how he insisted on touring other burial grounds during family vacations.) A late lunch at the only red-neck Thai dinner I�ve even seen. Seriously. Typical plywood booths and Elk-Hall chairs, cracked cement walls painted vaguely yellow-white, fried chicken on the menu and a chalkboard advertising the vegetable of the day. Yet, the American Eagle and flag emblem was painted on a three foot wide Japanese fan propped in the front window. Along the wall rather than the decorative plates of the old South were gaudy and golden accents of Thailand with pictures of the royalty woven in under the white rope lighting. Yes, Pad Thai was on the back page of the menu. A visit to Maryland�s largest winery, Linganore where the wine made us sleepy after the fried chicken and potatoes. Tuesday, we watched the sunset, watched a baby raccoon climb Garibalid�s tree and drank an entire bottle of dandelion wine. Admittedly, the professional�s version is smoother than my grandmother�s that always tasted slightly of green. (Colors can have a taste. Really. Oh, it�s my diary, just be quiet.) Wednesday, I sorted, bringing order to pictures and music throughout the house. I tried not to notice no cat had crept under the desk. Amongst the ignored mail I noticed the USPS is now providing an Indian motorcycle stamp and thought of Kevin. (1949 Indian. Yes, of course, the Harley-Davidson is in the stamp sheet, too. It�s not my fault.) Now, the weather is soft and beautiful, fantasy Pennsic weather. Wistful, am I, for slow sunsets, wood smoke and strong voices in song. Our camp�s probably having the traditional Scotch tasting tonight. Yet, still I�m not going. For myriad reasons, my needed week off means being on business trips the entire next week. While y�all are enjoying Pennsic, I will be on a road trip up and down the Eastern seaboard with my team. After the terror alert we�ve decided to drive, which always leads to much accomplished in the van and an exploration of divergent musical tastes. It will shock no one my iPod is voted most eclectic. How can I still be called random if it�s become entirely expected? The sun is lower in the sky now. Roland has fed me a perfect burger and crispy fries. Excuse me. I�ve got to freshen up this jack-and-coke and turn up Celynen�s wedding/New-Year�s Eve music collection. It never fails to make me smile. Sitting on the dock of the bay, awastin� tiiime � � Scribble to Theo previous - next �