These things don't happen every day.
I have had some great conversations and some interesting times of introspection. I have cried in the car listening to worship music.
I have cried in the car when the pharmacy was closed.
I have cried in the backyard when I realized how long it had been since I'd taken the time to sit down and really listen.
I cried playing the piano.
I cried on a walk.
See a common thread here?
I'm wondering if I can attribute a lot of my angst to hormones. That would be easy and helpful. But maybe cheating.
|Me, not crying in Starbucks.|
Here's one thing: I have not cried over dinner. My eldest daughter returned from her time in Germany with a strong desire and an undeniable ability to prepare meals. And to do so well, with joy. So every night this week, prompted by this blog and the inspiration of my cousin-in-law and her summer host Denise, she has cooked. Oh, has she cooked.
Pork chops with apples and wine sauce. Grits - GRITS! - with bacon and thick cheese and cream.
Homemade - HOMEMADE! - lasagna. Salad.
Most of all, she has taken this weight off my shoulders. When Syd asks, "What's for dinner?", I smile and say, "Ask your sister."
And everybody's happy.
Well, except me, in those crying moments. But you gotta walk through the crying to get to the happy endings, I know. I'm in a good place. Just wet. And waiting for the hurricane.
Here's another thing: Tony's monster skin cancer is gone and his dermatologist has commended him for his excellent granulation. That is a good thing. Now we are at the point where he gets a daily dressing change. That's me, honing my nursing skills. I've never dressed a wound quite like this one; it's big and raw and who knew your skin had so many definable layers? We've achieved a new level of intimacy, and he can now wash his hair. Yay.
So all in all, all is well. The wind blows where it will, and I'm considering the stories I heard of Hurricane Isabel years ago. The next few days should be interesting.