Today was our 20th wedding anniversary.
We didn't do anything particularly special today other than share a sandwich at lunch.
Ian got up early to run, I swam. There was an appointment with a roofer to get another estimate on the latest house project that needs to be tended to sooner rather than later. When I left for work all the kids were nestled into spots on couches and cuddled together to do things on laptops.
I did a lot of bow work today at the store. Ian brought me lunch and did work on his side of the store which is so different from my side. His thing is all Quickbooks and bills and rental lists, and mine is all chisels and knives and planes. It's a good thing we have each other because each of us is lost on the wrong side of the store.
In the afternoon he picked up this week's farm share box on the way home where he had to do an Army conference call. I finished my last few appointments and then swung by the house to grab the kids to go volunteer at the soup kitchen downtown. Then we stopped at Michael's and Goodwill to poke around for stuff for a project I'm doing, and then home where we were unsuccessful at coaxing the dog out from under the couch for a walk. (Chipper currently remembers how to do stairs, but has forgotten he likes to go for walks.)
My own space apart from the babble of the internet
Thursday, June 22, 2017
Sunday, June 18, 2017
Father's Day 2017
Dear Dad,
You've been gone almost two years now. It still hasn't really sunk in that I won't see you again, or get a hug from you anymore. I miss making you laugh on the phone. I miss being able to ask you questions when I'm having a grammar moment. I don't automatically reach for the phone now when those moments happen, but I still haven't quite let go of the belief that you are out there and I just haven't seen you in too long.
When I haven't seen someone in a long time I'm usually a little surprised when we are reunited that there are details I forgot--bits of mannerisms or scents or motions that go with a person that you don't hold onto well at a distance. I'm still adjusting to the idea that my perceptions of you will not be updated or renewed, but I'm left with whatever I already have. It's not enough, but it will have to be.
What would I tell you today, this Father's Day without you again, if I could call?
You've been gone almost two years now. It still hasn't really sunk in that I won't see you again, or get a hug from you anymore. I miss making you laugh on the phone. I miss being able to ask you questions when I'm having a grammar moment. I don't automatically reach for the phone now when those moments happen, but I still haven't quite let go of the belief that you are out there and I just haven't seen you in too long.
When I haven't seen someone in a long time I'm usually a little surprised when we are reunited that there are details I forgot--bits of mannerisms or scents or motions that go with a person that you don't hold onto well at a distance. I'm still adjusting to the idea that my perceptions of you will not be updated or renewed, but I'm left with whatever I already have. It's not enough, but it will have to be.
What would I tell you today, this Father's Day without you again, if I could call?
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