I can walk under ladders, Part 2
There is more than enough love and affection in my life.
We live in a beautiful house and -- more than seven months after signing a contract to buy it and a day after the fourth foreclosure auction was scheduled and postponed -- there is realistic talk of a January closing date.
We'll have a house full of family this weekend.
My mother comes for a week next month.
Berkeley has become home. Or close enough.
My husband supports my writing, he supports me, and I'm grateful that he helps me carve out time to take care of myself.
The blog has brought me virtual friendship (hello Anne, Jim, koe, Tracey, Karen, Grace, John, Holly, and Lydia, among others). I am grateful for this varied group of writers and photographers. Fellow travelers.
The kid is growing, is funny and sweet, is cuddly and creative.
My relationship with my father has become . . . good. Comfortable. (Mostly) free of subtext.
Wine country is only an hour away.
I live in a place where we can "visit" snow.
Often, when I reread old posts, I think: "Hey. I can write."
My family is healthy. We sit down to eat together every night. We laugh a lot together, too.
I'm lucky. I'm lucky. I'm lucky.
Thank you for being a part of it.
(I can walk under ladders, Part 1)
Image: Castello di Amorosa.
I thought I should have something a little more cheery here for the end of the year, especially after an old friend looked me up, read a few posts, and was concerned about my emotional state. I explained that, despite the tone of the blog, things are going well. That I just needed to stop getting up at 3 a.m. What can I say? I need to express the darkness. But not always.