So thankful

In the midst of today’s “family sick day” which was taken in honor of Clint getting his wisdom teeth out (Did you know that they use a HAMMER to loosen your teeth?  Did you know that the person can be fully conscious and joking with the dentist during the procedure?  Did you know that Vicodin does not put my husband to sleep?  I’ve amassed a veritable wealth of knowledge today.) and having a friend over for lunch and playing the piano, reading, journaling, trying to figure out how to remember definite articles, making banana bread, going to see a movie at the dollar theater…  In the middle of that I mostly didn’t take much time to think about the fact that 4 years ago today I walked out the doors in Monroe Louisiana and no longer belonged to the category of “troubled girls dealing with life controlling issues”.  Four years.  I cannot believe that so much has happened.  I’m sure that I’ll think about it more later.  But for now I want to thank God that I’m here and not there.

It’s Greek… no, English… no… Russian, to me

I’m taking Greek in the fall.  Which is one of the bright beacons in an otherwise currently cloudy semester, and is something that I am very VERY excited about, having wanted to take Greek every since I was an undergrad.  I realize that my excitement over this ends up sounding nerdy, but I seriously don’t care.  I’m thrilled.

And nervous.  It’s been a long time since I was a student and even longer since I took a language class, so I’m getting a head start, learning the alphabet, and brushing up on direct objects, definite articles, and determining if a word is singular nominative or singular accusative.  I remember, in a time long ago, being forced to diagram sentences, so in theory I ought to know this stuff.  In retrospect, that knowledge from my past really should have been mentally filed in the “save” file, as it would come in handy now.  But no, it was replaced by useful information like all of the names of the girls in the Babysitter Club books.

But today as I was doing my thirteen mile run, I discovered that my studying just might be paying off (though this might only make sense if you’re familiar with the Greek alphabet).  As I ran by an empty bottle of Popov vodka on the side of the road, I mentally pronounced it “roron vodka”.  Which means either that there just might be some hope for my learning another language or that I’ve totally screwed up my ability to read the next great American novel.

I guess we’ll wait and see.

The lostness of loss

Sometime between June and August my Dad took off his wedding band.  I saw him yesterday and didn’t notice for the first half hour and didn’t say anything after I did.  It’s not that I mind it so much, though I hear unbidden my mom talking about how he never could keep track of his ring, even the one she made specifically for him years ago in San Francisco that he then proceeded to lose.  I don’t think he’s forgotten my mom or that he didn’t love her.  I suppose I’m not even opposed to him re-marrying at some point, seeing as I’d rather the people I love go through life with someone than alone.  Maybe it was the the removal of such a familiar symbol that was disquieting.  Or the thought that every move towards and into a relationship with a spouse, child, or friend, every bit of laughter and hard times shared that brings you closer will end (seemingly, temporarily at least) with loss.  That one day either Clint or I will be slipping a ring slowly off our finger somewhere alone in an empty room.  And the time of death is every moment wrote T.S. Eliot, and that feels so true, has really always felt true to me, and never more than in the past year and a half.  I guess I wonder how to move past the intensity of that feeling.  I feel lost at the thought of fully entering into a life of continual loss, knowing full well that every bit of closeness to everyone and everything heightens the aching sense of grief in the end.  It all feels counter-intuitively painful.

Vacation!

My aunt and uncle are letting us stay in their Newport Beach vacation home (Condo? Time share? Whatever it is it’s much bigger than our apartment and has a huge TV (hello Indiana Jones trilogy), two bedrooms, a large kitchen, and a dishwasher) for the weekend. I am so beyond excited at the prospect of spending all weekend at the beach. I am excited about cooler weather, getting jamba juice en route (it’s buy one get one free until July 30 - just print the coupon from the website), sitting by the beach, going to PF Changs, at least a 10 mile run on the beach tomorrow from Newport to Huntington and back, making mojitos in the kitchen, taking lots of pictures, spending time with my hubby, and just relaxing. At the beach! The beach! We get to go live at the beach for a few days!

Did I mention how excited I am?

The last bit of a hymn I love that I can’t get out of my head

Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on

When we shall be forever with the Lord.

When disappointment, grief and fear are gone,

Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.

Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past

All safe and blessèd we shall meet at last.

 

Be still, my soul: begin the song of praise

On earth, believing, to Thy Lord on high;

Acknowledge Him in all thy words and ways,

So shall He view thee with a well pleased eye.

Be still, my soul: the Sun of life divine

Through passing clouds shall but more brightly shine.

Fourth of July

Whose bright idea was it to have a night where people drink beer and  light things on fire?  Walking around our neighborhood tonight made me feel like I was trapped in a bag of microwave popcorn.  Not that I’ve ever had that experience before, but I can imagine.

Ran the Anaheim Hills 10K this morning at 7:30.  Some good hills and hot sun, but I PR-ed (can that be a verb?) and ran the race in 47:19 (third in my age group) which is a whole 41 seconds faster than my best 10K.  Running is a strange sport.  I feel like I have to be looking backwards all the time or I get discouraged.  If I look back at college and remember that I was running 10-11 minute miles then I’m amazed that I can run 6.2 miles at a mostly 7:15-7:30 pace.  But when I don’t think back I feel like I’m not getting anywhere, that it would be better if I could run solid 7 minute miles or maybe 6:30’s.

Mostly though, when it came to this particular run, I spent a lot of time thanking God for the downhill pull of gravity.

Life in pictures

We finally stopped being white trash and got our old couch off the porch.  Now we can fully enjoy the wonder of a couch that is now dominating our living room.  I never thought we would need to get a new place solely to accomodate larger furniture, but I’m starting to think that might be the case.  Especially since our couch came with twin chairs.

one of which is living in the middle of our bedroom floor and taking up all the space.

Beautiful flowers sent by a dear friend.

The trip last weekend was nice?  Fine?  Okay?  I don’t exactly know how to classify it, mostly because I still don’t know what I wanted.  Ironic though, to think I was getting away, only to remember after we arrived on the central coast that on the day my mom died we had to drive through Paso to pick my brother up from camp.  You can run, but you can’t hide.  The day was not what I expected and I wish there had been more space, but there was wine tasting and fancy cheese and more wine and more cheese for dinner and a lot of sleep and a nine mile run in the morning, so I can’t complain.  Well, I could complain, but that wouldn’t be Nice.  No Reservations, however, was perhaps not the movie I was looking to watch that evening.

Wine tasting at Cass Winery

Was this the wine that was supposed to (I kid you not) age “like a sea turtle”?

Bookends

Me, Cindy, and Sara

Weekend Plans

Off to the Central Coast with a friend for the one year anniversary of my mom’s death. I never know what to expect from myself on these anniversaries, so why not make sure I’m with a friend and throw in wine tasting or the beach? If nothing else, maybe the wine tasting will lower my emotional threshold and let me feel something and if not… well, my mom’s still going to be dead the next day, so I guess I’ll take the emotions as they come up. Not sure what to expect and not at all what I thought this weekend would be.

Bits of life (an update)

Life has been busy.

Clint and I are starting to take more interest in condos for sale in the area. Actually buying something is dependent on a ridiculous number of factors, but the thought of more space that’s actually ours is enticing. The housing market in southern california, however, is very very strange, even with it being a buyers market. I’ve run by the same tiny dilapidated house in La Mirada for months and finally decided to call to get the asking price. It looked like it was worth $50,000, I figured because it’s La Mirada it would be higher than that… maybe $150,000? I found out that this 1300 square foot, 3 bedroom house, that needs a lot of work and some green spray paint on the grass was way more than I would ever have guessed. I don’t know what baffled me more, that someone could ask $375,000 for a house like that or that it could be half way through escrow at that price.

In recent apartment news, the last of 4 pregnant couples in our complex had their baby. They were expecting a little girl but ended up with a boy. How do ultrasound techs miss something like that! (Heather, I vote that you demand an ultrasound every month after 5 months and go with the best 4 out of 5.)

There are so many things to learn. My lesson the other day involved learning that my work key, no matter how much it resembles my apartment key, will not open my front door. Unfortunately, it was my work key that I tied to my shoe when I went running at 5:45 am. Sleeping husbands are so useful, aren’t they?

I also decided to sign up for a ballet class last week, got to the day before the class started and decided that I didn’t want to take it after all (the fact that it’s in the 90’s now and I feel sort of like a cow might have factored into the decision), was strongly encouraged by my husband to take the class, spent the whole day debating with myself, finally made it to the building… and found out the class was cancelled. That was a lot of wasted energy, now that I think about it.

I’m still listening to Three Day’s Grace OneX album every time I run. And I’ve done that for over a month now. That should probably tell me something about my state of mind but I don’t want to think too hard about that.

I find it odd that a university that produced at least one of the Cloud and Townsend duo (of Boundaries fame) doesn’t allow us to set boundaries when dealing with other departments at work. Boundary-less-ness does not make me happy. At all.

After being rejected by ISF I applied for another program starting in the fall that would allow me to take all sorts of classes that I’m interested in. Regardless of whether or not I get in, I’m going to take Greet next semester. I started reviewing the alphabet last week and got so excited when I could sound out some words. I can be such a nerd sometimes.

Clint and I have committed to helping out with the kids at Grace. He’s with the high schoolers and I (for right now) am with the elementary age kids. At the rate we’re going we might even end up back in our Grace Group! I think I have commitment phobia especially when it involves giving up chunks of time on a weekly basis.

As of today we’ve acquired an additional (lovely but large) couch and chair.  Anyone need a couch?

Happy Birthday, Mom

Dear Mom,
Today would have been your 57th birthday.  I find it hard to believe that a year ago I was up in Fresno for 24 hours to celebrate with you, taking (unwilling) orders as to how I should frost your cake, giving you the book with photos and letters from your family that I’d finished (in true form) the night before, and trying to make sense of who you were and what to expect in the months ahead.  Because we had months, were all but promised months, or at least we thought we were.
I wish that you were here to celebrate with today, for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which would be that I could wrap my arms around you and tell you how much I love you.
I can’t believe that I haven’t seen you in 365 days.  That I haven’t heard your voice in as much time except on the pathetic little messages from our landlords’ phone that have your 10 second messages and the tapes you made so long ago when I went to Biola the first year and you read the advent story out loud and recorded the whole thing.
Today has not been what I expected, but then I wonder why that should take me by surprise when this year and this month and this whole experience of grief has been other than what I expected except for the hurt.
I remember all of the birthdays when I’d sneak out to pick you flowers before you woke up and planned meals, and made you presents and thought and planned for months about how to make the day special and to try to show you that you were loved.  It’s very strange to have that no longer be a part of life, to have something that’s been in place for so many years abruptly come to an end.
I miss you, Mom.
I miss you a lot.

Love,
Ingrid