Today I begin writing again.
I need to get back in the practice of writing constantly.
In high school, I carried around a small notebook with me everywhere filled with poems, prose and thoughts. I injured my wrist in college, but thanks to technology I can write on the cloud anytime. I just have to DO IT.
It’s been a tough week. My step-father was admitted to the ER Sunday and my husband is doing PT for a herniated disc.
Anyway, I had a few nights of restless sleep that involved a clenched jaw until I heard that Bob was ok and in the clear. Turns out he cut back on his medication too quickly. So, I don’t feel the stress as much anymore, but my jaw still hurts, so I keep clenching, so it continues to hurt…
I try to avoid caffeine, because that will make me even more tense, but then, my eyes go blurry. So I have like 4 sips of caffeine. Then, I’m all ajitter and hungry. So, I drink lots of water and munch on any snacks in sight…
The PT wouldn’t be so bad if Ben didn’t want me there with him, so I have to rush home, throw some food in our mouths and then it’s off the clinic where I sit in terrible chairs listening to Entertainment Tonight while knitting. So, I don’t get to clean or do the laundry or relax. At least, my lace cardigan is getting worked on. I’ve also started charging my iphone so that I can listen to a podcast instead of celebrity gossip.
It’s the end of February and spring has been teasing me. Spring always gets me sentimental for the garden at Eichele and cleaning up the house for Gran and Pop Pop Pete’s return from Florida.
I still remember wandering behind the creek around the woods looking for tiny violets and cowslips and dandelions and buttercups and jonny-jump-ups creating bouquets for Mom and for Gran.
I remember Gran wandering with me and telling me their various names and what she knew of them. Sitting on the foot bridge over the creek and dangling my feet, watching the water bugs float and hop; throwing rocks in the little crook in the tree’s roots hanging over the water.
I remember Mom’s wedding, back there in the same spot with the little wooden bench off to the side. It was the end of May, but it was cold and damp, so I cried. Uncle Bobby, pulled me aside and comforted me so I wouldn’t ruin the moment and then we were able to go into the barn where it was warmer. I watched from the doorway as she stood on her tip-toes, smiling and giggling up at Dad during their photos.
I slept over that night and “helped” to clean up. Pop Pop Pete took my flower girl sash and wore it as a crown around his head. Clenching a flower in his teeth, he drew me into a dance around the barn. I’m so fortunate to have been privy to the lighter, care-free side of him. I wish his children knew him like I did.
I almost feel guilty that he played the role of the father I never had when he had three children who thought their dad was a distant cheapskate. But I would not be who I am today, without his enduring influence.
In the harsh light of reality in my childhood, he and Gran were soft, gentle sunshine to warm and soothe me.
It sounds unappreciative of everything Mom did for us, but Trappe was a dusty old house fraught with fear and nowhere to go. Phoenixville was small, cramped and surrounded by petty grumps. Trips to Perkiomenville were full of light and laughter. they were a reprieve from reality. A reminder that love conquers all. Eichel Road was home.
And let it be said, that those trips were with Mom. In every good memory that involves Eichele Road, she is entangled. She took us there, she laughed with us, she applauded our catches in the pond and delighted in our wild flower bouquets. At home, she was mom, busy and stressed and trying to do right by us, but always My Mom. At Eichele Road, she was mom and dear friend, who laughed and smiled and let go.
I get to see that side a lot more these days, but I still grieve the loss of Eichele Road because of what it did for us.
Anyway, I may still post journally things here on LJ, but for the most part, I'm posting writings on my new blog.
In high school, I carried around a small notebook with me everywhere filled with poems, prose and thoughts. I injured my wrist in college, but thanks to technology I can write on the cloud anytime. I just have to DO IT.
It’s been a tough week. My step-father was admitted to the ER Sunday and my husband is doing PT for a herniated disc.
Anyway, I had a few nights of restless sleep that involved a clenched jaw until I heard that Bob was ok and in the clear. Turns out he cut back on his medication too quickly. So, I don’t feel the stress as much anymore, but my jaw still hurts, so I keep clenching, so it continues to hurt…
I try to avoid caffeine, because that will make me even more tense, but then, my eyes go blurry. So I have like 4 sips of caffeine. Then, I’m all ajitter and hungry. So, I drink lots of water and munch on any snacks in sight…
The PT wouldn’t be so bad if Ben didn’t want me there with him, so I have to rush home, throw some food in our mouths and then it’s off the clinic where I sit in terrible chairs listening to Entertainment Tonight while knitting. So, I don’t get to clean or do the laundry or relax. At least, my lace cardigan is getting worked on. I’ve also started charging my iphone so that I can listen to a podcast instead of celebrity gossip.
It’s the end of February and spring has been teasing me. Spring always gets me sentimental for the garden at Eichele and cleaning up the house for Gran and Pop Pop Pete’s return from Florida.
I still remember wandering behind the creek around the woods looking for tiny violets and cowslips and dandelions and buttercups and jonny-jump-ups creating bouquets for Mom and for Gran.
I remember Gran wandering with me and telling me their various names and what she knew of them. Sitting on the foot bridge over the creek and dangling my feet, watching the water bugs float and hop; throwing rocks in the little crook in the tree’s roots hanging over the water.
I remember Mom’s wedding, back there in the same spot with the little wooden bench off to the side. It was the end of May, but it was cold and damp, so I cried. Uncle Bobby, pulled me aside and comforted me so I wouldn’t ruin the moment and then we were able to go into the barn where it was warmer. I watched from the doorway as she stood on her tip-toes, smiling and giggling up at Dad during their photos.
I slept over that night and “helped” to clean up. Pop Pop Pete took my flower girl sash and wore it as a crown around his head. Clenching a flower in his teeth, he drew me into a dance around the barn. I’m so fortunate to have been privy to the lighter, care-free side of him. I wish his children knew him like I did.
I almost feel guilty that he played the role of the father I never had when he had three children who thought their dad was a distant cheapskate. But I would not be who I am today, without his enduring influence.
In the harsh light of reality in my childhood, he and Gran were soft, gentle sunshine to warm and soothe me.
It sounds unappreciative of everything Mom did for us, but Trappe was a dusty old house fraught with fear and nowhere to go. Phoenixville was small, cramped and surrounded by petty grumps. Trips to Perkiomenville were full of light and laughter. they were a reprieve from reality. A reminder that love conquers all. Eichel Road was home.
And let it be said, that those trips were with Mom. In every good memory that involves Eichele Road, she is entangled. She took us there, she laughed with us, she applauded our catches in the pond and delighted in our wild flower bouquets. At home, she was mom, busy and stressed and trying to do right by us, but always My Mom. At Eichele Road, she was mom and dear friend, who laughed and smiled and let go.
I get to see that side a lot more these days, but I still grieve the loss of Eichele Road because of what it did for us.
Anyway, I may still post journally things here on LJ, but for the most part, I'm posting writings on my new blog.