Sunday, May 19, 2013
Where the Wild Things Are
Some may recall that when I last blogged, I was being swamped by family concerns. The above photo was taken on Thanksgiving afternoon. By the following morning, my father-in-law had passed away.
His passing, though not unexpected, was the third significant death for DH in the space of two months. And though DH did not ask me to stop blogging, my own intuition said I should. We had a house full of family the following week as well. One result was that I had to miss a talk that Kitty of the Flint Hills had arranged for me to do on "green" dressing.
We were busy settling my mother, pictured here as the Rastafarian in the center, in to her new apartment. We had only begun to move 50 years accumulation of memories to her new digs. That process continues and probably will through most of this summer.
And to make matters even more complicated, the deadline for my retirement decision was fast approaching. On February 12, I indicated my intent to retire. DH was like a little kid, he was so excited about the decision. But, I still had to complete a 25 credit hour teaching load, the heaviest load I've ever carried in my entire teaching career. I fulfilled the last of those responsibilities by walking through graduation last Thursday.
Cautiously, I think it is safe to resume blogging, though with my main reason to "dress up" now missing, it is hard to say what shape my posts might take. I've lurked enough to know that bloggers have been accused of 'peacocking', to know that Google Reader will soon be a thing of the past, and to feel such distress about working conditions in Bangladesh. That last is enough to make one want to go naked.
I've had so many imaginary conversations with my "gang of blogger friends" in the past few months and come to have so much respect for those who manage to blog through the deaths of their parents, their spouses, their health problems, etc. It is good to be back.
Above you'll see the crew of cooks for Thanksgiving '12. It was a poignant day for me, as once M. returns to Montana in August, it will be the last time in who knows how many years I will have had all of my daughters with me for a holiday.