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.
I can walk under ladders
My husband defended his dissertation.
I am typing in a sun-filled room, buoyed by three sleeping, contented kitties.
The laptop has been around almost six years and is going strong.
My marriage is better than it ever was.
There is more than enough food to eat today, this week, this month.
Our son is happy, healthy, and full of imagination.
Nora-dog is curled up in a patch of sun, perhaps dreaming of chasing squirrels or nibbling on giant biscuits.
Blogging has brought me both friendship and readers. I am grateful for both.
We live in a lovely house.
Twenty-four years ago today, something terrible happened, but I survived intact. Enough.
I am a writer.
I can transcend.
I'm lucky. I'm lucky. I'm lucky.
Thank you for being a part of it.