Ash Sunday



Cabin front yard - AFTER Photo by E. Gorman used with permission



Fire. One of the most important elements man learned to harness. The discovery of how to bring forth fire changed the direction of the human path; from scavenger to predator, from hit and run hunter to top of the food chain. We use fire for warmth, cooking, weapons, transportation, decoration and craft. We use fire to our advantage, but sometimes it gets loose and when it does it unleashes a force that is destructive, unpredictable and master of its own domain. It creates its own weather, it builds its own roads. When faced with such fire, we run.





Cabin-Front yard-BEFORE Photo by E. Gorman used with permission



On Sunday June 25 at approximately 1pm Mountain Standard Time, a fire broke out in the mountains behind Los Alamos New Mexico. Within four hours it was estimated at scorching 1000 acres. By the next morning the monster had shown its teeth, destroying 40,000 acres in less than 24 hours and the Las Conchas Fire was born. It was, in some estimations the result of a perfect storm. We had a significantly dry winter (Thank you La Nina, you bitch). Unfortunately, what dried out was the extra fuel that grew during the previous wet summer. Fuel humidity levels were at <3%. Additionally, we experienced a windier than normal spring that turned into a windier than normal summer. Add one downed power line (or whatever they finally decided was the culprit) and the equation was complete. Los Alamos, however, was no stranger to large wildfires. In the spring of 2000 a fire called the Cerro Grande scorched 48,000 acres and then came down into town where it laid waste to 400 or so homes and sent thousands of people running. Infrastructure was destroyed and people were not allowed back to live and work in Los Alamos for two weeks. Los Alamos, of course rebuilt. Finer homes replaced the "temporary" housing built in the 1940s for workers at Los Alamos National Lab, fire suppression systems were improved, emergency operations conducted more drills and made better plans. In short, the town and the Lab learned from the fire. The town was ready in case this should ever happen again-which people knew it wouldn't because the hillsides adjacent to the town were already scorched and scarred-surely this couldn't happen twice. 

Funny thing about fire, sometimes it does what you think it will and others it just acts like it is "all that" and goes and does whatever the hell it wants. The Las Conchas Fire has, as of this writing, burned hundreds of square miles of conifer forest and high desert. It has threatened towns, subdivisions, pueblos, national monuments, sacred native lands and tourist attractions. It took homes (about 63 last I heard) and cabins; little pieces of heaven treasured by their owners. The worst part, however, is that it is still burning. Unlike Cerro Grande, this fire did not abide by the rules of fire warfare. Instead it burned the scars left behind more than a decade ago; areas everyone presumed would act as anchors, preventing fire from getting through. The fuel was so dry that small embers set off explosive flashes that could be seen from town. The town once again evacuated; people were calm and deliberate while they packed what they could of their lives and memories and went down the hill hoping they would see their homes again in one piece. But the heroes fighting this fire, and when I say heroes I mean everyone from the helo pilots to the axe men and women, the incident commanders, the people working the phone lines and running coffee and sandwiches at the Emergency Operations Center, the guys driving water tankers, the volunteers baking banana bread at home and serving food and finding clean clothes for the line fighters and countless nameless others. These heroes worked tirelessly to beat the threat back. If there was any positive about the last fire, it was that it prepared people for this one. The town itself was spared and when the evacuations were lifted, people moved in and started to air out the drapes and water their plants in an attempt to regain some normalcy,  instead of waiting until their power and water could be restored as they did a decade ago.

Fire. It destroys structures and forests and whatever it can get a foothold in. It ruins watersheds and reservoirs.It is not, though, so much the structures that fire destroys that makes it (like water) so terrifying. This fire destroyed relatively few homes, but for those owners and the townspeople who cherish this area, the fire also destroyed a sense of place. People here spend much of their time in the mountains; hunting, collecting, hiking, painting, rock climbing, fishing, swimming, walking their dogs, kids and horses, or just being. The mountains are part of their identity. People move to northern NM for the outdoor living. How does one find a semblance of peace when lush green oases are turned to moonscape? How can people maintain a sense of equilibrium when their home is unrecognizable? How do people who survived Cerro Grande and Las Conchas regain their trust that it won't happen again?

People are adaptive creatures and they will find away. As yet I don't have a different answer. At the moment, the fire still burns endangering our neighbors to the north, south and west and the realities that are coming may mean the danger is not over. Monsoon season starts this month; no time to mitigate the mountains of debris and ash that sit poised to come down after a significant rain.

I was not a resident of Los Alamos when Cerro Grande came to town in 2000. Rather, I was a commuter from Albuquerque; which might as well be a different planet in many respects. I had seen big fires before in northern California, but it was all rather distant to me. I felt truly bad for the people here, but only from a "watching the news, can't go to work yet" sort of way. This time, although our bedroom community was not under mandatory evacuation orders, I was one of them. These were my friends, neighbors and co-workers. All of a sudden I found myself sweeping my walk of ash and ember debris and watering my lawn (conservation day be damned) and hanging on every message that came from the Emergency Operations Center. And now that the immediate danger has passed, I feel the pain and I anguish for the mountains and the people, the lost and displaced animals, the exhausted firefighters and emergency crews. My heart breaks and my lungs ache when the smoke is still so thick that you can't even see the mountains for what looks like brown fog. I weep inside at the thought of thousand-year old Native American sites ruined by fire and I worry for those still in the path of this ravenous beast. But I am also heartened by the outpouring of compassion between neighbors and towns, the generosity of resources and effort, and the fundamental resolve of people in this town and region.

I think it is tempting to compare tragedies. This fire was not a fraction as destructive as the 8.9 earthquake-propelled Tsunami that hit Japan on March 11. The National Lab at which I work was under no threat to lose or spew or blow up anything radioactive (contrary to what the news media reported-accurate as ever-not). Houses and livelihoods were spared here where they were completely destroyed on May 22 when an EF5 multiple-vortex tornado struck Joplin, Missouri. Most importantly, nobody died here. Comparisons, however, at least at this raw point in time, only serve to make people feel bad about that fact that they feel bad. We must experience loss in our own way and in our own context. People must be allowed to grieve for what is lost; whether that loss is personal or collective. In time,  when the helicopters have stopped dropping water, when the fire is finally extinguished, when the smoke clears from the sky, when green returns to the mountains where now there is only black and gray, when the destructive power of fire gives way to its creative other half-clearing the way for new growth -THEN perhaps we can stand back and feel lucky and grateful and maybe learn even more for the next time...

Post Script: A couple of hours after I wrote this post, our first monsoon hit. It was relatively mild, but it brought cool, precious rain and by morning the mountains could once again be seen and the smoke, in our area at least, had diminished. The mountains are wounded to be sure and the fire keeps burning, but the day refreshed hearts and minds and reminded us that even the most terrible things eventually pass.

Connections

People are herd animals. Yes, there are degrees, based on personality, culture, neurosis, etc., that determine just how social we tend to be, and of course there are exceptions (the monk in a cave, etc), but on the whole, we seek the companionship, support, influence and comfort of being with other people. One of the weirdest connections we have with each other has got to be familial. Now, I am a firm believer that we make our own families as we go out into the world, but the blood connection is a persistent one, for better or worse, and is, I believe fairly underestimated in the modern world. Who else but family can cause us such angst, insecurity and craziness on the one hand, while also instilling such feelings of belonging, joy and the empathy that can only come from everyone understanding Aunt Mildred's "condition"?

Ah, context..let's see, how to distill this piece without losing the more interesting  aspects. I was raised an only child of a single mother. That dynamic was all I knew, all I understood. Yes, I had a father, but he and my Mom split before I was two and I rarely saw him. In fact, I can count on one hand how many times I remember seeing him before I was 18. This situation is, unfortunately, far from unusual as my Mom did what most single parents do; she forged on. If my father-daughter story ended there, this would be a very short post.

My father: a merchant seaman, handsome, charming, witty, smart, irresponsible, afraid, thoughtless, likable, adventurous, broken. It is hardly possible to fully describe a person with words (especially a person I didn't know well) so I caveat all I say with the understanding that there is infinitely more, but also that this post isn't ultimately about him. He also had a way with women. To keep a ridiculously long story shorter, let's just cut to the fact that I have three half-siblings. I am the eldest, followed by my brother Mike, sister Shannon and youngest brother Malcolm. We are the products of my Father and three different women. Recently my sister got married and she generously and boldly invited me to attend.

Upon accepting the invitation I sat down and tried to remember the last time I saw any of the others. As close as I can tell it had been between 25-30 years since I had seen Mike and Shan and, except for a brief interaction at a funeral, I hadn't seen my "baby" bro since 1991. I remember growing up that whenever  my paternal grandmother would mention my "brothers" or "sister" I felt awkward, like it just didn't feel natural; siblings were supposed to know each other by more than reputation or in a passing conversation...Saying yes to the wedding invitation might prove to be more than any of us bargained for, but I strode forward.

The wedding was gorgeous and the

reunion of sibs fantastic. Was it without its odd moments? Of course

not. We are four people who have never been together before, thrust into what was already an emotional event. The other three know each other quite well and were raised at least in each others' lives. I am the odd duck in this pond in that I hardly know any of them. They have a shared understanding of our father to which I can never relate just as they may not be able to relate to my experiences with him. We each brought our own brand of hurt feelings, insecurities, protectiveness, and preconceptions with regard to our family, our father and each other to this particular party. I for one was surprised by: 1) How there are still some sensitive spots in my soul about my father and siblings, and 2) How much I was able to just laugh off as idiosyncrasies run amok (demonstrated by people other than my siblings).  The most important part of that weekend for me was being with family. I never knew how much I longed for that connection since both parents and all grandparents had died. Even with regard to my father, I always took some comfort in the idea that he was out there somewhere and therefore so was the possibility of reconnecting. With his passing, the last few years I felt like an orphan. Now I have seen firsthand more people who have similar physical characteristics. I loved learning more about my sibs and their lives/families. I was happily surprised to see we share a similar sense of humor. I like these new connections that seem to be trying to form between us.

The reality of my reunion with these siblings is that I have no idea where or if it will go. It is truly possible that we may only remain FaceBook friends and never get together again. We mostly live quite far from each other (CA, NM, ME) and that geographic distance can be tough on any new relationship. On the other hand, it could be the beginning of something grand; a healing, a discovery and a coming together of people who are connected, even if delicately. Of course if we do move forward together I would imagine that our relationships will get more complicated (as any other family) and the true test of how strong our connections are will be successfully navigating whatever maelstroms we meet (or create) along the way. The potential for success, however, is enough to keep me on board.

So on this Father's Day I will say to my own father: Rest in peace Mac. I am not sure it could have happened when you were alive, but I know that the four of us together would have thrilled you no end.... and I think we enjoyed it too :)  Love Always.

...and I'm a Zynga-holic.

I will admit right now that I am relatively new to FaceBook. I've had my account for perhaps a year and a half. I only first signed up to get/keep in touch with my widely dispersed family while my father was extremely, fatally ill. My assumption going in (logging on?) was that I would jump off as soon as it became of little use to me. I thought the whole idea of social media was overrated. I came from the school of thought that interpersonal communication needed to be face-to-face or ear-to-ear, or at least between people who were readily in touch, in order to be more than simply the manifestation and perpetuation of para-social relationships that really didn't go anywhere because they weren't actually...real (my goodness what a snob). But then I started finding more people. Friends with whom I'd lost touch years before, high school pals I never thought I'd see or hear from again, relatives I don't know very well. The whole experience became intriguing and fun. I was a happy convert. Then, it happened. I try to remember how exactly but it remains a bit of a blur... As I recall it started with an invitation to be someone's "neighbor" in something called Farmville. I ignored the first couple of invites, content to post the occasional moment or Nora-ism and read about the events and thoughts of others. Then the gifts started coming. A sheep here, a horse there and suddenly I found myself asking people (I think my brother was the first but he had moved on from FV) how to play this suddenly interesting game.

It is silly, I thought, but harmless so I gave it a go. Ha, if only I had known! I started out small and simple; a small piece of land with some crops, trees and a few animals. Soon it became, "How many neighbors can I get?" and bugging my husband to sign up so I would have an instant source of gifts (hehehe, kind of like real life :P ) Just when I thought I had the gist of this new past time, I received an invitation to join Fishville. Oooh, what is that?! My eyes were soon ablaze with the glow of multiple tanks and exotic species. Little did I realize just how much of my life these so-called games would steal; how readily I would become a slave to the will of the "Villes" (not Cruella De, but Farm, Fish, Frontier, and City). I would rush home and make sure to sign in before things "withered" or died of starvation. I would spend hours rearranging, designing, buying and displaying decorations, homes, themes, and even market stalls from which I would sell my produce. My drug of choice did not simply originate in the magical land of Zynga. Oh no, I also partook of the elixirs of Island Paradise, Mafia Wars and, School of Wizardry. While I admit I merely dabbled in the latter two as their draw was not potent enough for me. On the contrary, though, the Zynga games had me hooked. Before I knew it I had been playing these things for over a year (I knew that because I had Halloween decorations from two different years). I had amassed a "mighty plantation," various orchards, expanded horse barns, the "giant coop" and now had expanded my holdings to the U.K as Zynga introduced yet another reason for me to fritter away time in front of the PC. My "city" in Cityville boasts farms, a theater, courthouse, Chinatown, Little Italy, a port and an observatory! I was rolling in it all; sending and receiving gifts from "friends" who were now my neighbors. I never thought twice when I asked David to tell me who of his friends played the same games so I could "friend" them too (with the outright admission that I needed gaming neighbors!).

Did I ever think I had a problem? Of course not! I am in control; I can stop whenever I want! Yeah...

So obviously this post is written in jest, but still I did find myself wondering where my time was going. Why wasn't I getting things done as much as I thought I should? What had changed that made me jump on the computer the moment I arose and check it several times daily? And why, oh why was my ass getting wider and flatter? It was a mystery not hard to solve. Jeez, am I so without a life!? If I was prone to conspiracy theory I would blame the subliminal messages being broadcast by Zynga whenever I logged on to one of the Villes. Alas, I think I suffer what many in a similar position do. I work stupid hours, in a job that is equal parts joyful fulfillment and theater of the absurd. I am tired when I get home. All I want to do is rest and zone out for a time and forget the hassles of the day. The Zynga games allowed me that escape with little effort and little cost (and yes, I did succumb to actually buying FarmCash a few times, 'nuff said ;) I think people get on because it is a chance to commune, in a way, with other like-minded (at least in one way) people who may be bored, broke, lonely, exhausted or all of the above. Also, humans tend to be herd animals, playing games solo is fine, but the idea that others may be doing the same thing (maybe even at the same time) presents a feeling of being a unit in the greater multiplicity of a system. Or, maybe it's as simple as cute graphics, harmless maneuvers, a feeling of control and even fantasy (I, for one, would LOVE to have a real farm like my play farm, especially if  it was that easy, clean and cheap :D).

Last night I made the big break. I banned the Zynga apps from my FB account (except I learned that my neighbors can still visit and partake!), removed all notices from any of the three games I played with such verve and dedication, and today spent a grand total of 15 minutes online (until this post). And whereas I cannot tell you what I did last Sunday, I can tell you that today I cleaned house, re-potted several plants, brought others out and showered them, worked in the yard, baked a cake (from scratch even!), read the People magazine tribute to Elizabeth Taylor and did several loads of laundry. Will I backslide? You bet. I still find these games amusing and diverting, but I need to keep it all in perspective and remember that moderation is the key (like chocolate and margaritas). I do think I will keep it cold turkey for a few days, just to get loads done (not to ensure I can or anything...). The experience as a whole has made me think, but still I wonder how the sheep are doing on my English farm...

No, actually, I'm her Mom

I heard a statistic recently, that I won't even try to fake, that said there are more women than ever who are choosing to have kids "later in life" (read, after 35). I found this news somewhat comforting. I believe that things tend to happen when they are supposed to even if Fate's timing may not align with my own. I didn't even get married until I was 36 and so, wasn't even sure I would have kids. I was however, determined to try. My husband was at first ambiguous about the idea, after all he had four kids already and his DNA legacy was fairly secure. Being a good guy though, he knew it was important to me and so acquiesced to my desire.

Getting pregnant was not difficult for me at all. Turns out, however, that remaining pregnant was the challenge. Two devastating lost pregnancies later (and the discovery of hypothyroidism as a likely culprit) I found myself once again "in a family way" and under the watchful eye of three perinatologists as well as my Internal Medicine doc and my Gyno. Fort Knox is not that well guarded. I was appropriately throwing up every day and the Dr.s were ecstatic; blood pressure fine, weight stable (ha! lost some), no diabetes, etc. The pregnancy, for being "risky" for the first few months was sailing along. Finally one day several months in and after myriad monitoring and tests the Doc came in and said "I am proud to discharge you as having a normal pregnancy." No more specialists, no more bi-weekly visits, and an audible collective sigh from many people around me. The thing is, I could have told them that. There were some moments when I was nervous but on the whole I felt that things were good in there. I mean, she was part of me after all.

David and I strove to do everything "right" (riiiiiiiiight). We attended birthing classes, bought oodles of books on what to expect through the preteen years. I imagine nobody wrote anything on what to expect during the teen years because it might cause a dangerous drop in the birthrate. We had a baby food processor, wipey warmer, baby boppy pillow, bottle warmer, oh my the things we had. We were ready. Funny how even people our age could be so delusional. When the time came...and passed, back to the doctor's I went. After some discussion, they tried to induce me. One night in the hospital and lots of "discomfort" (men said that) later, still no kid. At the almost two weeks late point my doc decided to take matters into his own hands. He said she was way too comfy and had clearly no intention of coming out (true, no contractions - NONE - not even the fakey ones). So, Nora was brought into the world via c-section the day after my 41st birthday (best gift I EVER received). A perfectly formed (she had been in the oven as long as she needed), healthy pink baby girl of a miracle. So much for the birthing classes and the tour of the birthing rooms.

Skip ahead about two and a half years. Nora is an active toddler; playing, fearless, gregarious and all over the place. At the playground one day she met a little boy who was about her age and they were off, under their mothers' watchful eyes of course. Finally, the kids were trying to climb a skateboard ramp and the boy's Mom was helping him up. Nora instinctively reached for her hand too. The Mom reached out, but hesitated and, looking at me said "Are you sure it's all right with your Grandma?"............. Time stopped. Suddenly I was in the Tardis with Dr. Who and I was watching some primitive ape descendants playing with their children when I realized they were us, I mean me. I laughed (nervously? awkwardly? I want to punch her face-ishly?) and said "No, actually I'm her Mom." OK, poor young woman, she was incredibly uncomfortable but I am not sure if it was over what she said or the fact that she was with this doddering old woman who somehow thought she could be a mother! Or, there was the time that a (significantly older) colleague asked with a shocked look, if that was my daughter and upon me saying yes, he gave me this paterly look and said "Aww, good for you."

David and I had discussed (ad nauseum) the challenges we would face as "older parents." We knew we would be mistaken for her grandparents when she graduated high school. We knew she wouldn't know her siblings as brothers and sisters but more like aunts and uncles. We knew that our so-called golden years would not likely be the quiet days of retirement that others might expect. Rather, we expected to work forever to get her through college, take lots of glucosamine to try and keep up with her physically and hope our good genes paid off in terms of longevity. I hadn't in all honesty thought, however, I would face these issues before she was three. Of course I shrugged it off and got on with the day but since then I have faced, let's call them annoyances, related to being an older parent that I hadn't really expected.

First and foremost was the realization that I wouldn't have another kid. I grew up an only child and while I have cousins I adore, it can be a lonely upbringing. I fully expected to have another baby within  two years of having miracle numero uno. Alas and alack, nature had other things in mind and I remain grateful to this moment that I have what I do. Another surprise was the effect on my social life. I am not the most social of butterflies anyway and having a small child does tend to shape how that sociability evolves. Most of my friends have kids too, BUT they are much older than Nora. A college kid and a toddler don't make the ideal play date. So, I don't really spend much time with my friends unless at the occasional lunch or "girls get together". Additionally, I tend to be (feel?) much older than the "typical" women who have kid's Nora's age. Trust me, those years of experience count! In a room full of young parents at school functions the feeling is an odd mix of awkward hellos and sideways glances. Are we such an oddity? According to the stats I read, no. Ah, but we live in a small company town. Granted the company is the US Government and the town is made up of more PhDs per square foot than most anywhere in the world, but still, it is very, very small.

ON THE FLIP SIDE (you knew there had to be one right?), being an older parent gives me something the younger ones may not so easily possess and that is perspective. Nora is fearless because we let her try things and make mistakes and get bumped and bruised and move on. I see young parents at the park hovering over their little ones like they are made of glass. On the contrary, letting them try stuff when they are still puny is advantageous because they bounce (kidding). I also think perspective drifts in to things like  patience. So many things that I see bother other parents, just don't bug me. Whether that immunity is because I don't care what other people think or if I just understand that whatever little thing that seems catastrophic is minuscule in the scheme of things, I don't know. I thrive on the fact that Nora "cooks" by combining things like mustard, sugar, water, ketchup and a whisk, I know that no matter how muddy she gets, there is always a bath. I am confident that while one day she refuses to eat veggies, the next may see her subsisting on broccoli. It's all good. The best part for me is recognizing how precious these moments with her truly are and how swiftly they are flying past. If I had it to do over again would I have done it sooner? I can honestly say no, because then it wouldn't have resulted in Nora. Nora, our perfectly imperfect mix of Lattin and Bedell (and the rest of our family trees), fire and water, drama and peace and feet on the ground aiming at the stars. 

Enough in this chair. If I don't get up now, I will be too stiff to get on the floor and play with the Noranator ;) .............. Indeed, all VERY good.

Into the Bone

Losing someone. It happens to all of us sooner or later. I lost my Mom almost nine years ago to a wretched, aggressive demon called Inflammatory Breast Cancer. Unlike "regular" (if there is such a thing) Breast Cancer, IBC attacks quickly, ruthlessly and worse yet, stealthily. For the first month (after finally going to the doc after being in pain for a month) my mother was misdiagnosed because this particular demon presents itself as an infection (swelling, heat, pain). By the time the docs figured it out, the demon had invaded her bones. After brutal chemo sessions, during which the nurses wore heavy cartoonish rubber gloves to inject the poison into my Mom's port, followed by a radical mastectomy, and finally radiation, my mother gained an extra year and a bit of life. Through it all she was a trooper. Whether it was pain, violent nausea and vomiting, losing all her hair (and her moles and anything else that relied on fast-growing cells), the confusion, the fear and the frustration, she maintained a ridiculous level of caring for others, worry for me and a sense of humor. When the cancer was diagnosed as once again active in May, 2002, she had one dose of chemo, experienced excruciating pain, medications that eased it but also obliterated her short-term memory and said that was enough. It was her choice to end all treatment and enjoy whatever time she had left. One Sunday in June, David and I decided to move our wedding up about a year so that she could be there with us. We were married two days later in a ceremony hastily but beautifully put together by my aunts, uncle, cousins, friends and grandmother. My Mom was there, in heart, mind and body. It was, to say the least, a bittersweet day. Lynn Rae Bedell died on a late summer day in my aunt's house in San Rafael, surrounded by family and frankly, ready to be done with it all.

Her story is not unusual. Too many of my friends have suffered with their loved ones in completely different scenarios that are, nonetheless all too familiar. I can only imagine how my siblings felt as they watched our father slowly deteriorate then die in a hospital in Maine. The number of friends who have lost their parents to disease while they were still way too young, is disconcerting at best and at worst, horrifying. The thing is this though, it doesn't matter when or how you lose a parent. My Mom could have lived to be 104 instead of the 58 years she did achieve and it wouldn't have mattered. I distinctly remember that I wanted to die too, because I didn't think it possible to survive the pain of losing her.That is right, losing a parent is, in my humble opinion, one of the two greatest losses we face in our short lives. The other must be the loss of a child, which I refuse to even contemplate.

When we lose our parents, especially if we are close to them, we suffer sort of a double-whammy. Not only are you suddenly without the person (or people) that nurtured, guided, and loved you unconditionally (even with all their quirky and even annoying habits, rules, demands, etc.), but you are also, in our society at least, expected to get over it almost instantaneously! The chronology is as expected, your parents die before you. If they were very old, the pressure is even greater to "get over it" and move on with life. Well, I am here to say that such expectations are NONSENSE. Losing my biggest supporter, advocate, and the person who would always be most proud of me was devastating. Suddenly, the one person who knew the real me (from birth no less) and thought I could do anything was gone. I hardly knew my father and what I did know of him was both charming and dark. Even so, almost two years later my heart aches at the loss of at least the potential (for knowing me, my daughter, my husband, etc.) attendant with his death.

Loss hurts. Friends, lovers, family, people we admire, when they are gone the pain is palpable and the sadness can linger for a very long time. After losing a parent, that same pain travels below the soft tissue of the heart and lodges itself in your bones. It can cause your joints to ache, make you not want to get out of bed, forget how to smile, lose your appetite and make you generally angry at the world. Over time and with the support, love and patience of others, the pain eventually becomes something one can live with, like an old injury that usually aches and occasionally stabs, making you stumble within the routine of your life. We need to give ourselves permission (society be hanged) to travel the path that gets us to that dull ache.

Three weeks after my grandfather (who was my male role model growing up) died in 1998, a friend asked why I seemed so down. I mentioned that I guessed it was because of the loss and my friend said, "Still?" As infuriated as I may have been, I believe he said what others must have been thinking. Well sure, I would have loved to honestly have been able to feel at peace and "over" his or my Mom's death after a short period of mourning. Nobody wants to feel like the biggest bummer in the room. It is so important, however, to be able to take whatever steps are necessary to get you to a personally acceptable place. We all need to be able to fall apart when we see their favorite film or hear their voice in an old message because such experiences help us to heal, if we let them. It has only been in the last two years that I am finally able to talk about my Mom without crying (as long as we don't talk cancer).

All of these thoughts are resurfacing as I watch a friend star in those all too familiar scenes in which her parent is being stolen from her. I feel her pain; her anguish is my anguish because I have been there. There is nothing anyone will be able to say or do for her except let her go through it; hold her or let her go, cry and laugh with her, let her rage against the injustice of it, and through it all, love her anyway.

The Realization

Not long after my 46th (gulp) birthday, it occurred to me that something seemed to be missing. Now, that being said, I relize how dang lucky I am. I have a healthy family, a job with good pay and great benes, a husband who loves me, a GREAT kid and terrific friends. All of the above, however, just added to the sense of angst I already felt but added guilt, just for color. For months now I have wandered through my days, doing what is expected of  me at home and at work, but not fully engaged in, well, anything it seems. Ok, so that may be a bit of dramatic exaggeration but at least that is how I feel (and as you have no doubt heard me say, perceptions count).

Inspiration though, can come in the funkiest packages. Mine was an aggregate of the following: 1) My pal Erika started a blog to chronicle her "year of no spending", an idea I both admire and revile (but that is another story all together). 2) Another friend, Laura, has been chronicling her pork and burn challenges: eating in new restaurants and then participating in all sorts of exercise events. 3) My brother and sister-in-law have an amazing site/blog called From Away. It is full of recipes, reviews, musings and photos that they share as they eat their way through Maine. 4) I find myself more and more intrigued by sharing thoughts I once might have only put in a journal, but now am sharing with at least part of the world. And finally, but probably not insignificantly, 5), I watched Julie and Julia (again) last night (I am a child of pop-culture) and thought-why the heck not?

So, with shameless "benchmarking" from all those inspirations I thought for too long last night (resulting in too little sleep), about embarking on my own little journey, quest, adventure. You all know I love to cook (yes and eat). I love to travel, I love to read, and just generally discover. So, this is my excuse to do so in what may or may not prove to be a systematic way (probably not because as you also know, I am not so organized). I don't claim to be a decent writer, so please bear with me as a will likely trash the English language. Ultimately I hope, when this journey advances further, to discover some inward focus, maybe some new hobbies, some new recipes, books, skills, ideas... I really have no clue what I will find, hence the search.

Actually, starting this blog has been brand new territory for me, so apparently the experiment is already successful! Ok, I am done...................................   just kidding. See you next time.