On The Road Again

(Originally posted 6/3/15 on Walliebloggin' 2)

On the road again!  How can you not say those 4 words and not think of Willie Nelson?  Anyway…Beth and I are starting our travels together by volunteering to give a friend a lift from Dillon, Colorado to Banff, Alberta, Canada.  No, he’s not giving up civilization (sort of) and looking for gold in the Klondike.  No, he’s not running from the law (as far as we know). No, he’s not taking off on some 2700 plus mile mountain bike odyssey from Banff to Antelope Wells, New Mexico with a relatively small group of others, each willing to take on a self supported, soul searching, butt aching, fantastic journey through wilderness, most of us only read or fantasize about.  Oh…wait a minute, yes he is and it is called Tour Divide.  For the nitty gritty, check out tourdivide.org/about.

I've known Greg in the neighborhood of about 30 years and he is worthy of a blog just by himself!  We taught at the same elementary school for a chunk of time and I have written about going to Canada, fishing, with him and close friends from from his hometown of Grundy Center, Ia.  When telling others the origin of this trip and acting as Greg's taxi to Banff, the raised eyebrows can't quite get over the hurdle of having your butt in contact with a bicycle seat for weeks upon weeks, let alone the motivation a grizzly bear can give tired legs peddling up a mountain trail.  The general response is..."Why?"  The closest I can relate is the same reason I spent 17 days on a raft, pooping in an ammo can, picking sand out of places it shouldn't be, and loving every anxious and beautiful minute of it.

But before we can drop Greg at the starting line on foreign soil, we have to leave Blue Springs, Mo.  That is where this blog entry begins.  This last year or so has brought me Beth and her son, Drew, my adventure in the Grand Canyon, family accomplishments, and all the nuances life uncovers with change and growth.  A remarkable year indeed.  And more recently, my trusty companion, Tuck, joined his brother Tooga, whom I miss both dearly, but their absence has given us freedom to hit the road, so we are and we will.  With things buttoned up at home and good neighbors looking out for us, we’re off. 

Gettin' some lovin'.

I think I’ve written about the line between Point A (Blue Springs, Mo) and point B (this time Dillon, Co) before, but the majority of that space (Kansas) remains a constant.  The only things that appear to change on that line (I-70) are the others that are traveling on it with us.

The scenery tends to remain the same…the giant wind machines beginning around Salina, post rocks sprouting out of the ground as antique fence posts from back in the day, and the flint hills that turn into a flattened stretch of asphalt that leads me to the Rockies (point B).  But those that you run into along the way and the sometimes interesting weather on this 600-mile line segment, make the trip interesting. 

No matter how many times I see them, I am still amazed by them.

This guy made me feel good about myself and my packing skills!

Love this sign!  A sign of progress on the line segment.

In between scattered showers and scatter brained drivers.

The Mile High city.

From the back of Greg and Susie's condo on Lake Dillon, a few minutes
before moonrise.

Moonrise!

Ten hours after leaving our driveway, we pull into Greg and Susie’s, although their driveway is a parking lot to their condo in Dillon, Co.  So here we are soaking up the mountains, using them to hike and do a little fishin’,  while Greg continues to train these last few days before we head north.

It’s great to get away, but I know it will also be great to return to home base.  In between time, Oh, the places we’ll go!

My Zen from the road:

10-4 good puppy!

Ohhhhhhh...Myyyyyyy...

(Originally posted 1/18/15 on Walliebloggin' 2)

When forces of nature align, special things happen…mountains form, canyons are uncovered, the northern lights dance, and tidal bores excite (look that last one up…I dare you).  Recently one of these moments happened to me.  A moment that seemed to slow down, where I had the opportunity to get lost in my senses.  Colors became more vivid, smells more pungent, sounds more crisp and rich, and my sense of touch enjoyed previously ignored textures.  I didn’t peel off my clothes to find a super hero insignia emblazoned across my chest, although I’m open to that.  Five sentences into this and I have no chance of fulfilling your expectations of whatever you think is coming.  It has nothing to do with world peace or political strife, breakthroughs in science or any of the Kardashians.  There were two unsuspecting super heroes in this story though, my wife and her son.

Recently, my stepson was home from college for the holidays and in preparation for gift giving and being together with family for his short respite (celebrating one semester down and a break from dorm food), he and his mom traditionally prepare holiday goodies to have available for sharing with neighbors and seasonal snacking.  It is one of these goodies that blew my mind.  There were cookies, chocolate covered peanuts, white chocolate covered pretzels, cinnamon chili brownies, and pumpkin bread.

It was a simple oatmeal chocolate chip cookie that took my culinary breath away, with help from the microwave and a few scoops of vanilla ice cream.  I don’t know what it was that December day, when the parade of sugar laced dough seemed to stream out of the oven on a conveyor belt, but Betty Crocker, the Pillsbury Dough Boy, and the Persians that recognized the power of sugar cane thousands of years ago, all looked at one another and said, “ It is good.”

I’m not really a huge baked treat kind of guy, but brownies and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are two that make me set up and take notice.  On this particular day, set aside for this tradition of baking and sharing with tidings of great joy, the last hurrah from the oven came from said cookies above.  The oven door opened and the cookie sheet that entered, adorned with dollops of dough, had transformed into browned, flattened conglomerates of goodness, now resting on the cooling rack.  I held back the temptation to be first to grab and go, like a lower tiered wolf in a pack with a fresh kill, to see if the taste would match the aroma radiating from the kitchen.

I waited patiently, then snatched my first warm, oatmeal chocolate chip cookie and took a bite.  It was then that my senses began to align.  Even before the hot oatmeal with embedded chocolate chips began to cool, I knew each subsequent cookie would be paired with a scoop or 3 of French vanilla ice cream.  Wasting no time, I retrieved it from the freezer and this is where time began to slow.  I’m not sure if I knocked anyone down or pushed them aside as I was en route, but as I closed the freezer door I don’t remember hearing any of the conversation that followed for the next few minutes.  I was entering the zone.  As the ice cream dog piled on my next cookie, now in a clear, glass bowl, from the outside you could see it melting and forming a kind of marinade for the final bites of cookie number two.

But it was that first combination bite of cookie and ice cream that became my moment of sensory peace.  I was lost in the warmth of the oats, the sweetness of the chocolate, and the chewiness brought about by the sum of its parts.  The cold balancing the hot, the texture of the oatmeal balancing the smoothness of the ice cream, and the masticated aftermath sliding towards my tummy (where it is now a semi-permanent fixture on my waistline, but I don’t want to ruin the moment).  For those few moments, I had tasted nothing better…EVER!  

But soon thereafter, I remember hearing faint sounds of conversation and laughter fading back into my world and awakening me out of my moment of peace.  As quickly as I melted into this moment, I rejoined my heroes in the kitchen.  It didn’t appear as though they tried to write inappropriate things on my face in marker while I was gone and for that I am grateful.

Obviously these cookies made an impression, so I went looking for answers.  I pulled the package of ingredients from the trash and began looking for clues for its impact on me.  The front of the package was of no help, other than making me want another.  The “Nutritional Facts” on the back revealed nothing special other than the fact that their “serving size” recommendation is way too small.  And that lead me to the ingredients themselves:  Enriched flour bleached (including something mononitrate…mono means one, how bad can one of something be? Nitrate relates to nitrogen and everyone needs a little of that.  A little folic acid…must be good for your follicles) …whatever, Chocolate Chips, Brown Sugar, Rolled Oats, more Sugar, Corn Syrup (at least its not high fructose!), and a few other seemingly harmless participants.  The only suspect was the Partially Hydrogenated Soybean and/or Cottonseed Oil.  Why not completely hydrogenated oils?  Is the manufacturer holding out on us?  Is it cost cutting?  Or is it the secret to its deliciousness.  There is no number associated with its hydrogenatedness.  I wonder if it is addictive.  That would answer a lot of questions as to why I couldn’t stop myself.  I exhausted my leads or maybe I was just exhausted from eating.  Maybe it is better that it remains a mystery…I don’t think we are meant to know everything, even though there is a theory of everything! (Ha!)

The following attempts to recreate that first bite were not successful, and there were many attempts.  So like firsts, my cookie elation could not be duplicated, with good reason, otherwise there would be no firsts.  So I will savor my moment, this event, this juncture in time, and wait for the next.  

P.S.  I'll leave you with this image of Tuck and a plate of cookies.  Tuck's moment of peace.

Rear View Mirror…2014

(Originally posted 12/22/14 on Walliebloggin' 2)

As much as 2013 changed my life, 2014 smiled and said, ”You’re not done yet!”  In fact, had I read the fine print leading into this last year, it probably would have stated…”Hang On…BOTH Hands Required!”  Well, being that guy that leaves the directions in the box when assembling something new, this past year came together for me with no spare parts left over after assembly!  It was a really good year in the same way an exercise workout can be good…it wasn’t easy, I worked hard, and it feels good having made it through another one.

Enough analogies! I think I’ve made my point…I’m happy!

2014 was an adventurous year.  The Grand Canyon rafting trip was huge for a number of reasons.  The more time that goes by, the more significance appears in each rapid the canyon provided (see walliebloggin.blogspot.com – March 2013, for that story).  Recently a friend from that trip wrote to invite me to join a crew for another canyon trip, rowing another raft.  He had signed on and thought I might be a good fit as well.  I felt very honored to have been asked on a number of levels and having been behind the scenes of my own trip, I can feel the gravity of choosing your crew and every decision that is made prior to launch day.  This spring I will be thinking of them as the canyon touches each of them as only it can…keep the open side up!

The other big story for me in 2014 could be rivaled with any outdoor adventure, but the setting for this one is heart-based.  If you are not sitting down, I suggest you do.  If the chair you choose has a seatbelt, buckle up!  I met, got to know, fell in love with, and immensely enjoyed a woman named Beth.  So much so, this fall we got married! 

So as you read this, I can see you doing the math in your head, counting on your fingers and toes, and double-checking with the calendar on your wall.  How does that happen?  Let me help you understand…it doesn’t matter.  Some have said that finding someone so soon after experiencing the loss of a spouse is a testament to how strong your relationship was.  I prefer to follow that train of thought vs. any opposing ones.  Either way, time can fly or it can drag, the only thing we know for sure is that it stops for no one.  So let me introduce you to Beth.

I met Beth and Beth met me, while we were both looking in the opposite direction of new relationships.  It is almost indescribable what we experienced in our early days and we simultaneously decided to be open to whatever life was placing before us.  It was difficult for each of us in our own ways, to allow the possibility of what was unfolding, to do just that…unfold.  One layer at a time, we exposed ourselves to one another through hours and hours of talking.  No TV, no group activities, no “games”…just talk.  Eye contact, body language, word choice, and the possibility of the unknown was scaring the crap out of each of us.  And yes, we talked about that too.

As the days ticked by, our relationship grew exponentially.  Not in length, but in depth.  As we celebrated mini-anniversaries…one week, one month, etc… a smile would accompany each one with a knowing look of disbelief as though we both were thinking, “How could this be happening?”  We were our own naysayers on one hand and yet excited about the possibilities on the other, as we kept looking forward.

As much as I was petrified of “dating” after more than 30 years of not, two nice things about dating at my age were … #1, I had a pretty good idea of what kind of person would fit me and I didn’t have to spend my 20’s figuring it out.  And #2, I didn’t really care about others opinions for the most part.  This was about me, not them.  I was under surveillance by my family and trusted them to let me know if I was straying into troubled waters.

Beth had her son Drew, also the man of the house for many years, to keep her best interests in the forefront.  We both knew he had a pretty good idea of what was best for his mom and I was lucky he let me in to be part of that.

The proposal came during a nightly flossing routine and involved cell phones (you read right! flossing), the ceremony was intimate and quick (like the relationship itself), and our honeymoon will be a series of trips that will fill up our years together.  Because every time we travel from here on, it will be an extension from the previous one and that way the honeymoon will never really be over.

Sounds pretty easy, right?  Remember the workout analogy?  The hard work part?  Think about combining two well-established households.  Those of you who have done it know what I’m talking about.  On top of that, Beth sold her house, sent her son to college, sold her car, retired from her job, and is slowly but surely getting her feet under her, as the dust is settling here at the end of 2014. 

The bonus I never anticipated, but am fortunate to be a part of, is Beth’s son Drew.  In the AM hours, well…there is no vertical Drew, due to his horizontal status until the early afternoon hours of the day (excluding school days…or at least that is what he tells us).  The PM hours of having Drew in my life involve him singing, farting (followed by disgusting eye rolls from him mom and encouraging laughs by me), watching intimacy between him and his phone, and his love of movies.  He is full of energy (after noon), is smart and driven, has a wonderful sense of humor, and loves his momma.  Ding, ding, ding…that’s what makes him a bonus to me.

And then there is Tuck.  He is hanging in there with his old dog stuff that old dogs have to deal with.  He is coming up on 14 and is a calming force in my life.  Even though he has always farted, he’s assimilated to human farts.  Never have I heard a dog fart until recently.  Tuck has taught me to never underestimate a canine and maybe its because he has been around Drew (Beth would add me as well), but his farts have found their voice.  They are no longer silent, but deadly.  Instead they have become verbal and not deadly.  The latter we attribute to feeding him yogurt with his breakfast.  They use to clear a room and now, other than hearing them reverberate off the walls, they are stench-less.  He has been my moment of peace for this year.

Always keeping an eye on me.

So, from my rear view mirror looking back at 2014, it’s been quite memorable.  Fun, aromatic, exciting, tearful, and healing.  What every year should be!  I hope this finds you healthy, happy, and safe.  CHEERS!

A First

(Originally posted 11/9/14 on Walliebloggin' 2)

On a recent, sleepy Saturday morning this fall, I rolled out of bed to do the daily dog ritual… dish out 2 scoops of food, drop it into his metal bowl so he hears it, and wait for him to come down from atop the stairs, where he has been monitoring the whole preparation process of his breakfast.  But before he crunches on the first few chunks, I manipulate an arthritis pill he’s not real fond of (the pill and the delivery method) into the back of his throat past his left cheek.  He spends a few minutes deciding if he still wants to maintain a relationship with me after such an act, and as usual and begrudgingly, he gives me the high sign with his eyes and begins to eat.  This is followed by what is equivalent to watching paint dry…Tuck eating his breakfast.  You see, Tuck use to wolf his food down, swallowing chunks whole with the occasional crunch of some kibble that didn’t make it down with the first swallow.  But these days, as his face whitens with experience, a bite is followed by a slow glance around the room to see if he is missing anything.  Another bite or two follows with the same visual sweep of his surroundings.  At thirteen, he can do as he pleases.  When the process is complete, he convinces his rear arthritic legs to raise him one more time, because his domain awaits outside the back door.  Once he is in the fresh morning air, he meanders around in search of just the right spot to do his business, followed up by close scrutiny of any new smells left behind from nocturnal critters passing through his yard the previous night.

It was that scenario that set the scene for my moment of peace for the day.  While Tuck covers his backyard territory, I plant myself on the couch, looking out the patio doors, waiting his return.  During this time I sit rather comatose, staring through my backyard into the park that adjoins.  Depending on my level of awareness, which depends on the time of morning, which depends on my nights sleep, I sit in appreciation for what my eyes take in at such an early hour.  Some mornings I’m drawn to the park pond and how the morning light dances off the fountain’s spray.  Sometimes it is the cadence of the geese as they march in search of food across the grass, or depending on the time of year, the mating rituals of said geese.  But these mornings, I’m watching the trees as they turn their fall colors and shed their leaves for another season.  There are three large Pin Oaks, a White Bud, a Purple Ash, and a Catalpa in the backyard.  The last one I started from seed.  The morning was calm, as most mornings begin.  Not much movement in the trees, as the breeze tends to pick up later in the morning.  I peruse my trees, looking for any squirrel action for entertainment while I continue my wait, while “the paint dries.”  With Tuck’s stamp of approval on the yard as shown by his nose pressing against the door, we both return where we began a short time ago…to bed.

A little while later when I get out of bed for real, I prepare my breakfast and plant myself in the same spot where I waited out Tuck’s return earlier that morning.  I enjoy looking out my back door most mornings as opposed to flipping on the TV.  A little ways into my cereal, I noticed that the Catalpa tree (the one I started from seed, which is now just shy of 30 feet tall) is dropping it’s leaves in short bursts, whereas earlier on Tuck watch, there was no visible gravitational action at all.  I became engrossed in the leaves I saw releasing their stems from their branches they were attached for the last seven months.  They are bigger than the surrounding Oak and Maple leaves which are not falling as vigorously as the Catalpa’s.  At first, the random falling of anywhere from one to six or eight leaves at a time would fall.  That would be followed by a short break in the action and then another flurry of activity would let loose.  I became memorized by this magical, somewhat random dance, and could not look away.  During this performance unfolding before me, a question popped into my head, from wherever questions come from…”Had I had ever actually witnessed the exact moment a leaf let go from its tree?”

With that in mind, I began to watch intently to see if I could actually zoom in on one leaf and wait for its separation and free fall.  Minutes went by thinking it wasn’t meant to be.  I continued to see others tumble through the air in my periphery, but did not see mine let go.  But then it happened.  Maybe a puff of wind nudged it just so or the vibration of a squirrel jumping from one tree branch to another set it free.  Who knows, but I saw something for the first time I don’t believe I’ve ever seen before.  Now this event wouldn’t stack up against other visual firsts, like seeing a zombie walk out of a swamp in the cool, damp, fog laden air around midnight on Halloween, or while watching your neighbor shooting off fireworks, as you follow a bottle rocket enter your garage, followed by white smoke and flames, while you sit in denial that it’s your garage.  My leaf moment was much more of an “Aha.” rather than an “Oh shit!” moment.

Their flight patterns were like snowflakes, no two the same, as they fell to the ground.  Some slipped back and forth, as if hiking down switchbacks on a steep canyon trail.  Others did downward pirouettes, lead by the long stem of the leaf.  A few seemed to just glide off in a straight line, as if landing on a runway in the grass.  Still others had random tumblings, like watching someone dance that has no rhythm.  But they were all as graceful as the one before them or the one that followed.

The science teacher in me wanted to know why.  Why did these leaves on this particular tree, at this particular time, decide to drop and have such an impact on this particular person?  Was it the first hard freeze the previous night?  Did it have anything to do with living in the shade of a larger tree?  As you might imagine, a breeze increased the rate of fall.  Was it just a Catalpa thing?  Was I attracted to this unfolding story before me due to how many times I was dropped as a baby?  Or was it really important to know at all?  I gravitated toward the latter.  It wasn’t really all that important.  What was important was that I was there at the right time, to participate in my moment of peace for the day.  It may not be as spectacular as what I imagine atoms colliding would look like, but following one leaf as it strikes another, and then colliding with others was just as spectacular.  And in a few seconds there is a brief cascade of leaves that ignites the anticipation for the next showing, even before this one is over.  By the afternoon where there were dozens upon dozens of leaves, the tree was bare.  Leaving only the stringy bean pods attached, whose time will come as well. 

My baby Catalpa.

And why did this particular event draw me in?  Who knows?  I choose not to question some happenings as much as I use to, just take them in.  It is what it is.

Last Call

Last year, about this time, I received a phone call from Kate.  Kate is a grief counselor with Kansas City Hospice House and she proceeded to tell me that one of their services to families that have had loved ones at Hospice House, was offering to call once a month to check in on how the surviving family member(s) are doing…meaning me.  I was grateful for the care they provided Miki, and me as well, during our last week together, so I said sure.

True to her word, Kate called each month and when I answered the phone, she would say, “Is this Wallie? … Hi Wallie, this is Kate from KC Hospice … I was calling to see how you were doing.”  The same soothing voice would calmly begin a conversation about how things were going.  She might bring up something I had mentioned during a previous call or I might just dive in to a particularly difficult moment from the last couple of weeks.  Either way, I found it fascinating that I was uncovering stuff to a virtual stranger, based on where she worked and the sound of her voice.  Maybe it was the anonymity of it all, but I’m sure she listened to things I didn’t share with my own family.

From a distance, Kate participated in my first year without Miki.  She was there to hear of my initial steps to move on, my anxious moments leading up to the Grand Canyon trip, and the milestones I reflected on afterwards.  She was privy to Beth before most of my friends were.  She reassured me that much of what we discussed was normal, that she felt as though I was handling things well, and was lucky to have the family and friends surrounding me that I did…many people she spoke with didn’t have that luxury. 

Over these last 12 months, I spoke to a woman that I’d never met and felt completely at ease doing it.  Besides my dog Tuck, Kate was a safe place to unload or ask about missing someone I’d loved for 32 years…and now what?  It wasn’t rocket science and I don’t know if she was a professionally trained shrink or a hospice volunteer, she just listened.

A few days ago I was in the basement, making another attempt at cleaning up my shop area, when the phone rang.  It was Kate.  Due to the holidays and timing we agreed to connect after the New Year had established itself.  So now, while we were catching up on family visits from Thanksgiving to Christmas, it dawned on me before she put it out there, this would be our last official conversation.  I felt my eyes unexpectedly, yet slowly welling up with extra tears, with the thought that this would be our last call.  I held it together to the extent that I could still talk semi-normally while we visited about Miki’s anniversary date and how that felt leading up to and since.  As much as you can pat someone on the back for doing good work over the phone, she did as much and said she had enjoyed our conversations and said I sounded good.  She brought our visit to a close and wished me well as I expressed my appreciation for her and what she does.

With our goodbyes now silenced, I added it to my list of lasts.  This last year was significantly full of lasts, but this last call, besides a sign of moving forward, will most likely turn the tide and I will notice firsts instead of lasts.

Every Day

I’m not a parent, but I can imagine that when a parent packs up their child and deposits them in their first college dorm room, or hugs them as they head to basic training, or just waves from the door as they head to a movie with friends, that figurative and literal void that is left behind is how I’ve spent this last year.  At least for me, time (365 days now) has begun to reverse the intensity of those last six months I got to experience with Miki.

As Miki began her next big adventure a year ago and in the days and months that followed, the limbo I felt and the shock of it all began to crumble, I began my attempt to “move on” as she and I had discussed a number of times during those conversations that you never want to have.  As time marched on, I felt as though I was moving forward, or at least doing what I thought was expected when “moving on.”  Getting out in public, finding some semblance of a routine, putting one foot in front of the other.  But then it happens…you run into someone you know at the grocery store for the first time and have the question held up in front of you, “How are you doing?”  Or I start the process of removing her name from utility bills over the phone or tax records at the courthouse.  Each step forward thickens the skin a bit and allowed me to practice keeping the emotions involved at bay, at least until I made it back to the car or home.  Interestingly enough, the more I lived it, the more okay I became.  Talking about Miki with friends and strangers helped me deal with her absence and made others feel more comfortable in that first post-Miki conversation that has to happen, sooner or later.

The last big life change I worked to absorb was retiring.  You might think that not working anymore would be an easy switch to flip and it was to a certain degree, but some morphing (not morphine) was involved.  Not becoming another cushion on the couch or eating to fill the time in each day was a challenge.  Losing Miki had it’s own set of challenges as well and over the course of this last year I met them one at a time, just as I did starting down the road of retirement.   It sounds almost methodical, but I guarantee losing Miki and the days that followed were definitely not methodical.

As time continued throughout this last year, there were dates or landmarks that would come up in conversation.  Our anniversary, birthdays, dates from her six months of treatment, and of course the day she set sail.   I had these on my radar and acknowledged them in a way I felt inclined at the time, usually without much fanfare, which is the way we handled most dates of any significance.  We both treated most days equally.  Without kids of our own to elevate those “special” days, most came and went.  If we wanted anything we wouldn’t wait for a birthday or Christmas, we just got it.  Maybe a little lack luster and unromantic, but it worked for us.  Although I reveled in my birthday and would accept gifts any day of the year for any reason, Miki chose to not acknowledge her birthday and reveled not being in the limelight.  She would smile when I whispered Happy Birthday to her, as she closed her eyes at the end of her day.  We knew and celebrated what was important to us in our own way that evolved over our time together.

Throughout this last year I slowly acknowledged how much she had rubbed off on me…in my head these rubbings became known as Miki-things.  Everything from continuing to recycle at home, to appreciating little things each day have become more a part of me, both of which I haven’t always done.  I found myself surprisingly not pissed all the time, following her passing, but trying to find the positive which she was all about.  And as time drew closer to her birthday and now the anniversary of her passing, I realized that I was not getting as emotionally charged as others have anticipated (and me to some extent) as these and other landmarks make their appearance on the calendar.  Miki celebrated her birthday, Christmas, and most traditional celebrations the same.  Her efforts went toward celebrating them everyday in her heart.  She didn’t need the fanfare, the gifts, the candles…she tried to live the spirit of that special day, everyday.  And if she got caught up in the fluff, it was only because of me, or not wanting to dampen the fire of others excitement…at least that was her intention.

 

As I approach tomorrow, December 4^th, I’m acknowledging my own variation of a Miki-thing.  Throughout this last year I didn’t just think of her on special days.  Everyday was special because she was one more ingredient that added to its significance.  Some were more emotional than others, but it has made me embrace each day as being special…or at least attempting to.  Some days it takes a little more effort to see the little things or recognizing that it was a good day after all.  But as I contemplate (yes, I do that sometimes) what makes every day special, it could be a good belly laugh or the first sunny day after a string of dreary ones, but she has become part of what makes each day a good day.  I’m lucky to have known her and she has most likely influenced my life in ways I may not even know yet, and I will continue to love her for that.

So this week, prior to this anniversary of her passing tomorrow, I was not dreading its arrival, because I’ve been living the previous 350+ days as if it were this week.  In other words, I’ve lived this year as though each day was the anniversary and I celebrate her and the time we had everyday.

Dusting off Walliebloggin'...

Last March, after completing a huge step moving forward, I wasn’t sure what would happen with Walliebloggin’.  The blog had served its purpose after retiring and was a true gift to myself throughout this last year without me really knowing it.  It was a connection to a time I never want to forget and has provided me with a crude kind of therapy that will move forward with me.

When my canyon adventure ended, so did Walliebloggin' and it seemed like a good time to let it fade to black.  But I still get these seemingly random thoughts and recently one found its way on to paper, while looking out into the backyard one morning.  I wasn't sure about a lot of things as 2014 began, but as the saying goes, I’d like to think I’m “making lemonade!” 

So Walliebloggin’ will follow in the steps of so many movies and have a sequel…Walliebloggin’ 2.  What frightens me is that many sequels are never as good as the original, but I’ll never know unless I give it a go.

If you like "lemonade" and are so inclined to follow some random thoughts, find a moment of peace, or vicariously hit the road once in a while, the sequel might (just maybe) stir your mojo at...walliebloggin2.blogspot.com