The end of another weekend...
I made sausage yesterday morning, then went to Saturday market, and stayed at home and watched the Office last night. Low key weekend = probably a change I needed.
I'm leaving for home in 6 days, and as excited as I am, there's a nervousness there too, which I did not expect at all. I miss my friends so bad, but I know that the person that I am when I left Lacey on August 8 is completely transformed. And, just like when I left for college, and came back that first time, yes, I am expecting things to not sit exactly right.
I don't know how I'll react to being home, now that this, at least in part, has become my home. Faster than anywhere else, this is home. It's comforting and terrifying at the same time.
...such is life, eh?
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Take her back, Josephine.
This song just seemed appropriate. It's beautiful, and I think it fits that my Busia's name was Josephine. I'm really going to miss Aunt Eleanor.
Josephine by Brandi Carlile
Take me back Josephine
To that cold and dark December
I am missing someone but I don't know who
Now I'm standing alone and I'm trying to remember
Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you
Noontime wind can you blow
For me one more time
And take me on back to the start
Where the midnight moon shines so bright
Nearly pulled us up to Heaven
By the strings of our heart
Take me back Josephine
To that cold and dark December
I am missing someone but I don't know who
Now I'm standing alone and I'm trying to remember
Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you
Morning sun shine on me
Come light inside my window
And rest on my brow
Kiss my eyes when I sleep
And carry me back home
If my dreams will allow
Take me back Josephine
To that cold and dark December
I am missing someone but I don't know who
Now I'm standing alone and I'm trying to remember
Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you
Take me back Josephine
To that cold and dark December
I am missing someone but I don't know who
Now I'm standing alone and I'm dying to remember
Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you
Someone help me understand why I'm still loving you
Josephine by Brandi Carlile
Take me back Josephine
To that cold and dark December
I am missing someone but I don't know who
Now I'm standing alone and I'm trying to remember
Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you
Noontime wind can you blow
For me one more time
And take me on back to the start
Where the midnight moon shines so bright
Nearly pulled us up to Heaven
By the strings of our heart
Take me back Josephine
To that cold and dark December
I am missing someone but I don't know who
Now I'm standing alone and I'm trying to remember
Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you
Morning sun shine on me
Come light inside my window
And rest on my brow
Kiss my eyes when I sleep
And carry me back home
If my dreams will allow
Take me back Josephine
To that cold and dark December
I am missing someone but I don't know who
Now I'm standing alone and I'm trying to remember
Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you
Take me back Josephine
To that cold and dark December
I am missing someone but I don't know who
Now I'm standing alone and I'm dying to remember
Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you
Someone help me understand why I'm still loving you
Aunt Eleanor Falejczyk
In and amongst all the life going on in my life, and in Bethel, and in the world, there is also death. One of those things you don't think about until it hits you right between the eyes, and forces you to look at it right in the face and think about it.
My great aunt Eleanor (my mom's mom's brother's wife) died last night in a hospital in New York, and I guess that it's not so much that I had a super close relationship to her (though I did see her pretty much every time I went back to visit Busia) as much as the feeling of loss in the family as a whole. She was the only connection I ever felt to my Uncle Frankie, who died when I was 2 or something like that, and who I only can see in pictures. And Aunt Eleanor, the last time I saw her, was still so spunky. That is one thing that I can say for the women in my family, whether related by blood or marriage. We're all pretty spunky. No matter how old we get.
It's hard to be so far away up here, and feel like I can't be there with my family. October was the one year since Busia died, and I couldn't believe it had gone so fast. But at the same time, I miss her so much, and I think about her more often than I ever did before she was sick. It's ironic how someone not being there anymore makes you realize how important they were to you, and how much you may have taken them for granted.
I think it's hard for me also, because for a period of time, after my grandfather died, and before Busia died, there weren't any deaths that I had to deal with. There were about 11 or 12 years where I didn't have to confront death, and then, in the past year and couple months, there have been 3 deaths in my family. I guess you just get out of practice.
If anything else, this just makes me want to go to NY and be with my cousins, and my aunts and uncles, as dysfunctional as we all are. I barely know my cousins on my Mom's side, and I have only met most of the relatives on my Dad's side once. And I don't want to be the estranged family member just because of geography. It's hard enough to lose family, but I think it may even be harder to lose family that you wish you knew better. I wish I had been able to talk to Aunt Eleanor more often. I should have written her more letters. And I wish that I could have listened to more of her stories. I feel like when family members die, a little piece of me dies too. Because we're all the keepers of our history, and there are pieces that we'll never know now.
I know that there is nothing that I can do, but I still feel really poorly about that fact. I know that death comes for everyone at some time, but it still hurts a lot. I hope she didn't suffer. I hope she knew how much she was loved, and I know now that she's somewhere, with Uncle Frankie, and Busia, and Grandpa, and all their friends, looking down and not wanting us to cry. But the tears flow anyway, as they always will.
My great aunt Eleanor (my mom's mom's brother's wife) died last night in a hospital in New York, and I guess that it's not so much that I had a super close relationship to her (though I did see her pretty much every time I went back to visit Busia) as much as the feeling of loss in the family as a whole. She was the only connection I ever felt to my Uncle Frankie, who died when I was 2 or something like that, and who I only can see in pictures. And Aunt Eleanor, the last time I saw her, was still so spunky. That is one thing that I can say for the women in my family, whether related by blood or marriage. We're all pretty spunky. No matter how old we get.
It's hard to be so far away up here, and feel like I can't be there with my family. October was the one year since Busia died, and I couldn't believe it had gone so fast. But at the same time, I miss her so much, and I think about her more often than I ever did before she was sick. It's ironic how someone not being there anymore makes you realize how important they were to you, and how much you may have taken them for granted.
I think it's hard for me also, because for a period of time, after my grandfather died, and before Busia died, there weren't any deaths that I had to deal with. There were about 11 or 12 years where I didn't have to confront death, and then, in the past year and couple months, there have been 3 deaths in my family. I guess you just get out of practice.
If anything else, this just makes me want to go to NY and be with my cousins, and my aunts and uncles, as dysfunctional as we all are. I barely know my cousins on my Mom's side, and I have only met most of the relatives on my Dad's side once. And I don't want to be the estranged family member just because of geography. It's hard enough to lose family, but I think it may even be harder to lose family that you wish you knew better. I wish I had been able to talk to Aunt Eleanor more often. I should have written her more letters. And I wish that I could have listened to more of her stories. I feel like when family members die, a little piece of me dies too. Because we're all the keepers of our history, and there are pieces that we'll never know now.
I know that there is nothing that I can do, but I still feel really poorly about that fact. I know that death comes for everyone at some time, but it still hurts a lot. I hope she didn't suffer. I hope she knew how much she was loved, and I know now that she's somewhere, with Uncle Frankie, and Busia, and Grandpa, and all their friends, looking down and not wanting us to cry. But the tears flow anyway, as they always will.
Monday, December 1, 2008
purposely ambiguous blog
I wonder why fear scares me so much. I mean, FDR was, right, I think when he said "the only thing to fear is fear itself." But becoming frozen by your fear is crazy. I know it's nuts. And it happens to me anyway. And I'm not sure how to defrost myself.
I know I care, so why do I insist that I do not? And how do I deal with the fact that sometimes I can't even tell what's the lie I'm putting out there because I don't want others to know the truth, and what I really feel. The actor is caught not knowing what is her scripted line, and what is the line from her heart. How can I ever be true to anything, or anyone, if I don't know what my truth is? And who decides what truth is? My truth is different than yours, and yours from everyone else's. The truth that comes from knowing oneself is a dream that slips through my grasping fingers the moment I wake, and only in my dreams can I see who I am, and see myself in harmony with the world.
And at the moment, I feel a little like a dysfunctional salt shaker. One that either sprinkles too little salt or too much, never able to walk the middle line.
I fear change, yet, I fear staying in one place. Falling in love with everywhere, yet, never being satiated. I want to explore, I want to see things, but I will need a place to be home. I'm afraid that I won't ever find that. I won't ever find the one thing I'm looking for most fervently, and all my prayers in the world can't help me if I'm in my own way. But I don't even know if I am. If I knew the reason, I'd fix it. But trying different medications without a proper diagnosis isn't healthy. And maybe neither is this.
The problem is that I won't know until it's too late.
I know in my heart that it's not the end. I have faith that it's just the beginning. But I also have the self-doubt that I'll ever get there.
I know I care, so why do I insist that I do not? And how do I deal with the fact that sometimes I can't even tell what's the lie I'm putting out there because I don't want others to know the truth, and what I really feel. The actor is caught not knowing what is her scripted line, and what is the line from her heart. How can I ever be true to anything, or anyone, if I don't know what my truth is? And who decides what truth is? My truth is different than yours, and yours from everyone else's. The truth that comes from knowing oneself is a dream that slips through my grasping fingers the moment I wake, and only in my dreams can I see who I am, and see myself in harmony with the world.
And at the moment, I feel a little like a dysfunctional salt shaker. One that either sprinkles too little salt or too much, never able to walk the middle line.
I fear change, yet, I fear staying in one place. Falling in love with everywhere, yet, never being satiated. I want to explore, I want to see things, but I will need a place to be home. I'm afraid that I won't ever find that. I won't ever find the one thing I'm looking for most fervently, and all my prayers in the world can't help me if I'm in my own way. But I don't even know if I am. If I knew the reason, I'd fix it. But trying different medications without a proper diagnosis isn't healthy. And maybe neither is this.
The problem is that I won't know until it's too late.
I know in my heart that it's not the end. I have faith that it's just the beginning. But I also have the self-doubt that I'll ever get there.
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