Summer Tripping

Nuriel and I took a trip to Indianapolis to visit my wonderful friend Mindi. I also taught a Waldorf summer camp there. Nuriel and I had a great time!

 A cookie at the farmer's market.

 An amazing "monster"party...
 

 ... with her hair sister (the birthday child) and...

 ... a monster cake...

 ... and monster muffins.

 Looking just like Brent, only his belly was slightly bigger than that & he had a hairy chest. ;-) The swimtrunks are my statement against sexy swimwear for toddlers. (She does not need a thong!)

 Waldorf camp beauty and...

 ... felting soaps. 

Then another birthday party! This one had a "The Keeping Quilt" theme. The guests were asked to bring a scrap of quilting fabric instead of a gift. I'm considering doing something similar for Nuriel's 2nd birthday. We'll see.

 Nuriel is wearing a skirt I made! My friend Mindi, who has sewn many fabulous things for Nunu, showed me how to sew a skirt. I named it Kibiflopple skirt because I used four different fabrics: Kiwifruit - Birds - Flowers - Apples. I'm very proud of it. It was cut out & sewn after some major wine consumption!

 A yummy peach fresh off the tree.

Semi-naked chef!
 ~
Nuriel does not like air travel! Also, something happened on the way home... During our visit Nuriel's heard her friend call her Dad "Daddy." On our flight this afternoon, Nuriel decided that the tall, muscular African-American man with the long braids in the seat next to us was her Daddy. She said, "Hi Daddy!" over and over again. I apologized, but it's hard to get a 22-months old child to stop talking! When the guy fell asleep (or pretended to do so... Ha!), Nuriel said to all the surrounding passengers: "Shhh. Daddy is sleeping." I was so embarrassed, especially since the guy didn't seem to have a sense of humor about it and the more I tried to divert her attention , the more persistent she became...
~
That's all. It was a really nice trip.

The Essence

Living from the core.

For a long time now I have been standing, mourning over what has been lost. Life is not how I wanted it to be, but life still is. I have wondered how to go on from here and in the midst of  this wondering have lost sight of the fact that the answer to that question lies within me. It is time to move on in a different way. I must turn within.

I am still here and this is my life.

If I operate from the consciousness that I have chosen this life, then I must accept that I have also chosen this event. This week I have been reminded of the fact that life is fragile, there will always be painful events, broken hearts, wounded souls... 

It is life.

I'm going to nurture myself and allow life to flow through me... joyfully.

Father's Day

Happy Father's Day! Too bad she can't give you a hug. She brings so much laughter to my life. Thank you. I think we did a good job. :-) She loves to play with these blocks that were made from "our" 2009 Christmas tree.

1 A.M. Insomnia

When Brent left in April 2009, he wrote me a 3-page letter, which he left under my pillow. He told me about it at the airport. The idea was for me to find something when I got back home.

When Brent left in January 2010, he left me his favorite shirt under my pillow. I had already had it for a couple of months, but he wanted it back. He told me to look under my pillow when I got home as I was leaving NYC. It was the last time we saw each other...

I keep his letter in one of two books. One is a book he gave me as a gift & the other is for spiritual inspiration. I needed the latter book at school the other day. Before I left home I checked to make sure that the letter wasn't in there. Nope. Didn't see it, which would mean it was in the other book. Well, I got to school & was about to pass the book on, when I realized that the letter was in there after all. I sort of freaked. Well, I did freak. I loose things a lot, esp. keys, ATM cards & my mind. I decided to put the letter into my school-bag. Surely, it would be the safest place - right?! This evening I went to my bag to pull it out. I have the thing pretty much memorized, but I like to read it here and there & I hadn't read it in a while. I pulled the letter out of my bag & then I totally freaked out when I realized that - for some reason - the last two pages were missing. I only had the first page of the letter! I searched and freaked. I was sure it was lost. I thought I was going to go nuts, which is pretty impossible. I'm already pretty nuts these days. Nuttier than nuts... Yeap. That's moi!

In my true "I'm the queen of loosing things" style I had also misplaced one of Nuriel's handknit socks. I had last seen the sock in our bed (she sleeps in the bed with me) last night. I searched in the bed & under the bed... Then I lifted the pillow... and I almost bleeping fainted when the other two pages of the letter were under the pillow! I had not even kept the book in my bedroom! How weird is that?! (I also found the sock under the bed, after I had already looked there four times & not seen it!)

How did the pages of the letter get there? I'm going to go nuts... Oh, no... I already am! - And under the pillow of all places! CraZzZzeeee.

Three People - One Shirt

First.

Then.

Now.

Cat Milk Trifle

It's pretty simple. We've been milking our cats. By Christmas we hope to have enough milk to make the pudding for the Trifle using "cat milk." The end.

Just kidding.

Some of you will find this strange, but here in the U.S. all raw milk I have ever purchased has been labeled with "for cats & dogs only." When we lived in Germany, the kids would go to the farmer to get our milk in a lil' milk pail. Raw milk. Fresh from the cow. When we lived in Chicago-suburbia, we encountered the "for cats & dogs only" for the first time. I remember just putting the milk in the fridge. I knew why it was labeled as such. Noah didn't read the label until he went for the 2nd glass & exclaimed, "Oh my gosh! Mom!!! I just drank the wrong milk!" So funny! Even my kids thought it was weird that such labeling needs to take place. The government lets us smoke cigarettes, but we can't drink raw milk? Yeah. They are really concerned about our health, huh? Anyhoo.

Last autumn a family had gifted me with a CSA from Farm to Family - raw milk included. Brent thought it was the oddest thing that the milk had to be labeled in that way & we jokingly started calling it "cat milk." "A bit more 'cat milk' with my coffee, please?!" "Yummy. Cookies & 'cat milk.'" When Brent & I went to my Mom's house for Christmas, we took ingredients to make a Trifle - organic & from scratch. Of course we weren't going to let that "cat milk" go to waste. I remember Brent saying, "New Zealand Trifle must be made with 'cat milk'" when we prepared it in my Mom's kitchen. My family was bewildered, but they ate it. They probably thought the liberal use of Sherry outdid the potential traces of "cat milk" they might consume...

So, as I was just thinking about Christmas in one of my sentimental moments, I thought of "Cat Milk Trifle." We must have "Cat Milk Trifle" with Christmas dinner!

Signed,

A Naked, Depressed Fish Drinking "Cat Milk"

If I Could Turn Back Time...

It is still strange for me to be in places where he has been. Today Noah had a presentation at school & I needed to leave to nurse Nuriel. I sat down in the big hall where school functions take place. It was empty & quiet. And as I sat there nursing her, my eyes tried to find the spot where he sat at a festival last December. Back then the chairs in the room had been arranged in a circle. I remember sitting with my class on the opposite side & us making eye-contact a few times during some very beautiful moments. I did not know then that I was already pregnant with Nuriel. I could pin-point the spot where he sat almost exactly. I kept staring at it as if I expected a big cloud to show up out of nowhere, with him emerging from it... Needless to say that didn't happen.

Yes, grief has been hittin' me intensely these past few days. It's like a wave. Gotta ride it out. At least so far it hasn't had the intensity of one that sends you flying off the surfing board and makes you ache all over as your body hits the water... It's not one of the sobbing ones; it's more like numbness.

Edited to add: After hitting the publish button, I realized it's the 14th today. Nuri is a month old. Time flies!

Look What I Found!

I remember him e-mailing it to me. I thought I had deleted it for sure. Imagine my surprise when I found it yesterday while looking for a file in my "laptop labyrinth of files!" Brent as a baby - almost 50 years ago. It's a rainy, cloudy, melancholic Sunday here. Nuri and I are listening to music. Much love to all our blogland friends!

PMSing & Labor

Confused, huh?

I'd love nothing more than some labor this Labor Day weekend & a smooth birth & a healthy baby. Yeah, take that all you lazy loafers who just wanna have fun & BBQ one more time! It's Labor Day, not Lazy Day! I'm willing to sweat in the birthing tub while you splash in the cool water by the pool, checking out the hot dudes & chicks. (Can't you tell by my vocabulary that I have a teenager in the house?)

Seriously, I know it's all about the right time, but can this please just be the right time?

Yes, patience is not my virtue & I'm not even PMSing, which leads me to the last time I should have been, but apparently wasn't aka the beginnings of Lil' Bean The Procrastinator. (Yes, it's an official name change in case you're wondering.)

And yes, I've been browsing old e-mail threads again.This one was preceded by a not-so-nice message from me when Brent didn't respond to an e-mail quickly enough (aka a few minutes). I blamed it all on PMSing. (Aren't we women so lucky to have this excuse for bad behavior once a month?) I'm not going to post my original message here, of course. Why not? - Because it's my blog & I want you to think I'm always nice, centered & calm. Ha!

Message from Brent
Sun, Nov 22, 2009 at 9:36 PM
I have a very busy week in preparation for my travel. Christmas presents to buy. Arrange shipping. Clothes to launder. Inoculations to have, especially the anti PMS inoculation.

Message to Brent
Mon, Nov 23, 2009 at 12:20 AM
I hear the anti-PMS inoculation is given in the rear end; extra long needle. Ouch. Enjoy!

Eight Months

It's hard to believe it's been eight months. On January 2nd, Brent and I said our good-byes in a hotel parking lot in New York City.

His were silver, mine were gold. So corny. Fun times.

Exquisite subway station tile in the back. Ha.

And yeap. I made him the scarf.

We had spent New Year's Eve & Day there. We didn't "get in" to the Times Square festivities. Too many people. We sat in Central Park together on a park bench; snow falling; drinking hot tea & coffee. Well, I got to sit on his warm winter coat, he sat on the park bench. He'd point that out, I'm sure. We got back to the hotel by 11:45 p.m. and watched the Times Square countdown on television, glad that we were warm & cozy in bed. We laughed about it as a sign of getting (or being) old. 2010 had thus started with much joy & love. Surely a great year was ahead with news of a baby on the way followed by a fabulous New Year's Eve together. Little did I know that just three weeks later my world would fall apart.

I'll take you back to that hotel parking lot in a minute, but first this: I was always the one taking the pictures on our trips. Brent liked how the photos turned out, but he also knew that I had a tendency to delete freely, especially when it involved pictures of me. We generally uploaded them from the camera directly to both of our laptops, but we hadn't done that with the NYC pictures. I actually ended up e-mailing them to him in batches of five due to the large file size - all of them, well almost. Seven were apparently missing. And I got caught in the act.

Message from Brent

Sun, Jan 17, 2010 at 6:32 PM [That was Monday around noon his time. He died two days later.]

Hi Baby. Just going through the pics from NYC. Thank you for your effort in sending them. The following appear absent. [He lists them by individual file number. Funny. Wonder how long that took.] Just wondering if you have them.

Message to Brent

Sun, Jan 17, 2010 at 6:42 PM

I have them, but I don't like them.

Message from Brent

Sun, Jan 17, 2010 at 6:43 PM

So it is censorship. What about the mural pics? And there are no pictures of you.

Okay, back to the parking lot. I was driving back to Richmond. Brent was planning on taking a shuttle to JFK to fly back to New Zealand later that afternoon. Yeap, one of those crazy long trips where they write your luggage tag by hand, because their computer system can't process more than two connections with different carriers.

We had said good-bye & Brent had gone back upstairs. It was cold. I sat in the car with the engine running & I just couldn't leave. When we were saying good-bye for the first time (a few months earlier at the airport in Richmond), Brent had told me that he didn't want me to look back; that he wouldn't look back. He wanted me to remember a smile on his face and he knew he would have tears in his eyes. So, I didn't look back. But then he called me from a layover destination & asked me why I hadn't looked back. I said, "You told me not to. How do you know I didn't look back? You must have looked back..." He said, "Of course I did. I wasn't going to miss an opportunity to look at your bum without you noticing what I was doing." Arghhh. Men! :-)

I sat there in NYC in the car & cried. I hated saying good-bye & these early pregnancy hormones were probably not working in my favor either. I knew that if I didn't leave then & there, I wouldn't get back to Richmond before late in the night & I hate driving in the night. But my emotional self won. I turned the engine off & went back upstairs.

I had an emotional meltdown in the hotel room. We spent some more time together. I felt better about leaving after that, but it was still hard. There was a fear in me that I wouldn't see him again. I knew it was crazy & irrational to have such a thought. I remember saying, "I don't think I will see you again." He looked at me like I was crazy. "Don't be silly. Of course we'll see each other again," is what he said.

I'm glad I did it. I'd take the stuck in traffic option & getting home late in the night again any day. Had I known then what I know now, I would have actually never left; I wouldn't have let him go. We never did see each other again & we never will. He died less than three weeks later. But eight months ago today we said good-bye.

Good-bye, my love. Thanks for everything, especially for that most special gift of all...

Philadelphia & The Shower Story

I'm feeling sentimental. Lots of memories; good memories that make me smile. I don't think I have ever told The Shower Story. I may have, but in any case it's a story worth hearing twice.

When Brent visited for the first time last year in April we drove he drove up to Philadelphia while I was knitting on the passenger side. He had some work related stuff to do there, so we had planned on spending three days up there.

I had booked a B&B in the city. I thought the rooms were beautifully kitschy, Brent thought they were tacky beyond belief. Although he kept commenting on how the clashing colors were not good for his well-being, he did give me credit for having found accommodations that were affordable & with a good city-location - as per his request.

I have to back up here for a moment and say that although my old rental had many problems, the shower pressure was awesome. It was the old rental's best feature. Brent had made a comment, too, on just how awesome it was.

In the B&B he was the first one to take a shower. He came out with a worried look on his face & told me that I wouldn't like the shower. He said that the pressure was "a bit low." "A bit low" for him translated into "an annoying tiny-trickle-thing-that-doesn't-deserve-the-word-shower" for me. It drove me bonkers. I complained about it over & over again in my sweet, whiny way. Brent never said a thing. He just had that worried look on his face.

Philadelphia was awesome. One morning, while Brent did his job-thing at the university, I treated myself to a mocha & discovered the mosaics of artist Isaiah Zagar. They can be found throughout the city. I went to the Italian Market. In the afternoon when Brent came back, we walked down South Street where we had a "bloody expensive" Long Island Iced Tea. Brent had a hard time getting used to the fact that you do tip in the U.S. - even if you think at $9 your drink was way overpriced to begin with. See, I'm a good date. After just one drink I get really funny & entertaining. One is all it takes. ;-) That night we went to the theater. It was so pretty walking through the city in the evening. I felt so fancy in my white dress with Brent holding my hand... Awww. Sigh. Anyhoo. That was Philly.

Back to the shower.

Fast forward. In the weeks after Brent left, we made plans for me to visit New Zealand for my summer break, which translates into Kiwi winter.

One day he said, "Well, now that you're really coming, I'm going to have to do something about my shower."

I said, "What are you talking about?"

He said, "Well, remember the shower in Philadelphia?"

I said, "Yeah. How could I forget... It had the most horrible water pressure eva!" (My Kiwi-speak attempts always made him laugh.)

He said, "Well, the water pressure in my shower is worse than that. You will hate it. And I won't put up with you complaining for five weeks the way you did in Philadelphia, so I'm going to have to hire someone to take out my old shower and put in a new one. And I'm going to have to see what they can do to increase the water pressure."

So here I was, thinking I would be miserable having to put up with horrible water pressure for over a month, but I couldn't let a guy rip out his shower because of it either. Big, big internal conflict.

I said, "You don't have to do all that. I will be fine. Really." (And immediately I thought, "Oh gosh. It will be horrible.")

He said, "No. I saw how you get about the water pressure. I won't put up with it. I'm having a new shower put in."

And he did. For me. Really. No kidding.

After taking my first shower there, he asked, "So, what do you think about the water pressure."

With a grin on my face I said, "It's almost as good as mine."

He looked at me with this You-gotta-be-kidding! look. I smiled & looked at him and then said, "Well, your hot water lasts longer than mine. That gives yours the edge." He laughed. And that, folks, was The Shower Story.

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Brent & I could never figure out the day he first sent me a message. I thought he was awkward & too old for me. I wasn't all that interested. Eventually he asked for my phone number. He thought I would find his kiwi accent irresistible. I thought he was full of himself, but in a way he was right. I certainly found it charming. I don't have many messages saved from that time. This was an e-mail exchange the day he tried to call me for the first time. Two years ago today. Hard to believe. Anyhoo...
---
From: Brent

To: Cadi

Sent: Saturday, August 9, 2008 6:45:49 PM

Subject: RE: :-)
I tried to call you. I am not sure if I called the correct number. I did leave  you a message
---

From: Cadi
To: Brent
Sent: Sat, August 9, 2008 8:34:36 PM
Subject: Re: :-)
I got the message. I was in the shower when you called. What a bummer. Loved your sophisticated accent! ;-)

---
We ended up talking for the first time the following weekend while Brent was chillin' in the bathtub. - I remember how that reinforced my "this guy is awkward" theory. We talked until his hot water heater ran out of hot water & he was getting cold - 2 hours or so. And just when I got used to the whole bathtub-phone-chat idea, he called me one day while he was on - the crapper, as he would put it. But I even got used to that. When he was visiting last April, I jokingly sent him this e-mail. - I must mention that I lived in a small house then & it was next to impossible not to hear what was happening in the bathroom...
---
From: Cadi
To: Brent
Sent: Sun, April 5, 2009 4:07 PM
Subject: Hey!

I love talking to you on the phone when you poop, but I like it even more when I can hear you poop in my bathroom! :-)
---
Yeah. That sort of made me laugh today... I've been blogging about farting & poop a few times now. I shall attempt to have a classier post for you next time. Now back to the here & now.

Farting

I must admit that I'm never good with subject lines or titles. Farting seems to gross out most people, but then again we seem to be fascinated by it in some twisted way.

Not all of this post will be about farting, but there'll be some farts. You might wanna grab a clothes pin for your nose.

Today I got "lost" in an online forum. A woman there had posted a rant about her husband's annoying behaviors. I paused for a moment and reflected on the things that annoyed me about Brent, which brings me back to farting. He farted in bed & it annoyed me. He thought it was funny. In order to annoy me more, he would sometimes pull the blanket up and get really close. I'd think, "Awww. Isn't that sweet." Then he'd fart & laugh. At some point I figured the whole thing out and I started saying something like, "Back off. You're about to fart," and I'd make sure my nose was where the air was "clear." I'm cracking up as I'm typing this. And as I'm typing the words I MISS HIS FARTING I know he's cracking up on the other side of the threshold there.

Brent was a Scorpio, and with me being a Pisces that made for a good combination. He had a lot of wonderful qualities that I appreciate in a human being. He was passionate about the things he did, with a caring & loving personality. He was a very affectionate man. But he also had that wandering eye that Scorpio men are so famous for.

There was a certain intensity to his personality, and a tad of "moodiness for no apparent reason." I'm a person who always wants everyone to be happy & when someone is not, I usually wonder if I caused it. I remember this one Saturday when I visited him. We needed cream for the soup I was making & he was in one of those moods.

(Sideline: I only drove once in New Zealand. I almost peed my pants. Driving on the left side of the road & needing to go around a traffic circle counter-clockwise spells a-n-x-i-e-t-y for me.)

"Hey. We need to go to the store and get some cream for the soup."

"Well, the bus stop is just up the lane. You know what to do."

I wasn't quite happy with that answer. In fact, I was pissed. But I realized that it was my choice whether or not I would let it get to me. A breakthrough in my personal development of sorts. :-) I grabbed my purse & left. On the way out I said, "See you later."

It was the one and only time when I literally got to the bus stop as the bus was pulling up. Perfect timing. I took the bus into Christchurch. I had a look in the touristy shops by the Christchurch Cathedral, went to the Art Gallery & then to the (totally awesome & amazing) Weekend Market at the Arts Centre where I totally lost track of time while browsing from one booth to the next. I ate something yummy, had a coffee, did some people-watching & then went back "home" - almost forgetting the cream.

When I got back Brent asked where I'd been for so long.

I pulled out all the treasures I had bought.

He said, "You went for cream."

I said, "I'm a woman. I'm on vacation. With money... You were grumpy, so I went shopping."

He said, "I got dressed & when I stepped into the lounge, you were gone."

I said, "You told me to take the bus, so I did." [Pause.] "Well, let me get the soup ready."

He said, "Soup? We're not having soup. We're going out to eat." [Pause.] "You have this ability to diffuse my moods... I can't believe you took the bus."

As I'm typing this I'm realizing that I'm not remembering his kiwi speak the way I used to, which makes me sad.

Anyhoo.

The point I was trying to make is that he wasn't perfect. He was human. There were things that annoyed the bleep out of me. Things that made him unique. Things I now miss.

So tonight, when your significant other farts in bed, take a deep breath & inhale the aroma.

A Sweet Moment

The picture doesn't do the moment justice, but this brought a smile to my face yesterday: Clothing drying out in the bright & warm sunshine. The wee lil' things in newborn size for Lil' Bean's homebirth box right next to that humongous shirt Brent left me...

In This House

Tonight I can't sleep. And the reason isn't because I created the biggest flame ever when trying to fire up the pilot light on the gas-stove. - There's something up with the stove, but the landlord never bothered to fix it. The pilot light constantly goes out. Unfortunately I've become immune to the gas smell. I don't always catch it right away. Tonight I smelled it as I was drifting off to sleep. I sent the kids out on the porch to take care of the problem. The kind of problem that creates one of those "Ughh, single Mom!" moments. The flame was huge. The flame isn't coming out where it should. Very freaky. But no, not the reason why I can't sleep.

I sort of overdid the hauling boxes & carrying furniture thing & I'm aching all over, but no, that's not the reason for my insomnia either. (My children were just the most amazing helpers, though. So awesome. I must squeeze that into this post. I just love them so much.)

I can't sleep because my mind is flooded with memories. Tonight I sleep in this house for the last time. It's the house Brent came to when he first visited in April of last year. I remember that rainy night. I had picked him up from the airport. After traveling for 30 hours the combination of having a car speed drive on a 4-lane motorway on the right side of the road, with my interior control lights being out (I had no clue how fast I was really going) ,and getting lost in downtown Richmond in the middle of the night probably didn't give the very best first impression.

He was pretty impressed with the water pressure in my shower, though. We went up to Philly a couple days later. We stayed in a B&B with a horrible water-pressure. I kept complaining about it. It caused him to remodel his bathroom when he went back to New Zealand. His water pressure was even worse than the one in the B&B, and he said he would not be able to put up with me complaining about it for 5 weeks when visiting that June, so it was better to have a new one put in.

But yes, this is the house he first came to. In this bedroom we spent our first night together. (We did other things in here, too. I won't go into those. You know, things like breakfast in bed & playing board games.) We celebrated Easter together in this house with a lovely breakfast out on the porch. We decorated our first Christmas tree together in this house. We cooked in the kitchen together. He hooked up a wireless net connection for me here with some device he purchased when he lived in China. I remember him telling me the password. I told him I wouldn't remember, that I would just ask him when I needed it. Sigh. I really don't remember...

This is the house where we sat together in the living-room, talking, with me working on some knitting, and him rubbing my feet.

It's the house with many more memories, the house in which I will sleep for the last time tonight. - That's if I can fall asleep at all and if the house doesn't blow up first...

Sage

The sage came back. Hard to believe after the unusually cold winter we had in Virginia. I just noticed it today. This sage is special. I bought it at the Italian Market in Philly last year. Brent & I spent part of the Easter weekend there. I can't believe it came back. Oh the joy & pain of memories.

I Never Knit Him Socks

There's this thing in the knitting world. A curse of sorts. Never should you knit a man a pair of socks or he'll put those socks on & walk right out of your life.

I swear. It's true. Pinky promise.

Three crushes in three years. Three pairs of socks knit. Gorgeous socks may I add. Three guys went a-walking, which - in all honesty - wasn't a bad thing in retrospect... Anyhoo.

Then came Brent. I knit him mittens. A scarf. A matching hat.

He wanted socks.

I refused.

I came up with all kinds of excuses.

"Your feet are too big. It'll take me forever."

"You will wash them with the wrong stuff and ruin them." --- "I'll send them to you to wash whenever they need it." --- "Your stinky socks won't make it through customs. The drug-sniffing dogs will pass out & I'm not going to wash internationally."

"My favorite sock yarn comes from Australia." - As a true kiwi he would have refused to wear socks (or anything else for that matter) knit from Australian wool. ;-)

One day I told him about the knitter's curse. He laughed & thought I was nutty.

I never knit him socks.

Browsing through old issues of Knits magazine, in the Fall 2006 issue, I found a pattern today. "Father & Son Socks." Sigh.

I should have knit the man some socks, you know.

Aye, I've got the brains of a chocolate fish, huh?

Gratitude

This week I'm grateful for...

... all the wonderful comments left on my blog & Rhonda's post. I was quite touched. Thank you so much!

... the smile that a lovely stranger brought to Nathan yesterday when a platypus coin & other lil' treasures arrived in the mail. His report turned out great. I must post about it soon.

... Spring weather. The boys have been outside playing football with the neighborhood-kids for over 4 hours. So glad it's that time of year to be outdoors.

... memories - although sometimes they are painful. A year ago today, Good Friday, Brent & I had walked from our B&B to South Street where I got pretty tipsy on one Long Island Iced Tea. Yeap. One is all it takes. Then we went back to the B&B and walked across town to the theater. I remember the white dress I was wearing. We saw "The Complete Works of Shakespeare - Abridged." It was a great, fun play. We went to the theater a lot when we were together.

... the wonderful Waldorf education my children receive - an education where art is alive. Here's a clay frog & a clay elephant Nathan brought home today.

Have a lovely Easter weekend!

Easter Weekend Coming Up...

... and I can't help but think back to last year. Brent & I spent Maundy Thursday through Easter Saturday in Philly. Kitschy Bed & Breakfast. Theater. Long Island Iced Tea on South Street. Sights. Lots of walking. Happy times.

The blog posts Italian Love and Art Love are from that time.

Sigh.

I miss him so much.

Baby N

Waldorf philosophy assumes that children choose their parents when they are preparing their next incarnation, while still in spiritual realms. It is thus difficult to start at the beginning of this story, but for some reason a child, preparing for his or her next incarnation on earth, decided that Brent & I should be the chosen ones. While I can't go back all the way, here is what I know...

Brent and I spent Christmas at my Mom's house. That's where it all started. Well, sort of. Really "it started" two days after he got here, but anyhow. On Christmas morning I woke up feeling horribly sick. At one point Brent told me, "You are pregnant." I knew this was impossible, and I blamed my queasiness on the "climate change."

We drove back to Richmond and it didn't stop. Brent was much more intuitive about it all than I was. One evening we were joking back & forth, and at one point he said, "Hey, you better be nice to me. I'm the father of your next child."

Then came the morning of December 30th. I felt horribly sick - once again. As I laid in bed I decided I would go to the drug store to get a pregnancy test. I continued to tell myself that it was impossible to be pregnant, because it really was! What a weird cycle I must have had! But, my period was way overdue. I felt sick. My boobs hurt... I peed on the stick and as I wanted to sit it on the sink to wait 2 minutes for the result, I realized that it had turned positive already.

Children come to this world on different paths. This was a surprise for both of us, certainly not planned. Some may find this a horrible thing to say about an unborn child. I knew from the very beginning that I would give birth to this child. There was no doubt in my mind! The long distance aspect of our relationship certainly didn't make things any easier. We didn't really talk about it all very much during the following days. I had a miscarriage before Noah was born. I was in the "let's wait & see" kinda mode.

Then, one evening, we did talk about it all on the phone for a rather long time, for almost two hours to be specific. We made plans for the future. I don't want to go into the details of these plans, but we made plans and they were good plans. It was Tuesday night in New Zealand. Brent was laying on the couch. He was going to watch a movie.

What happened then, I have written about on this blog. He never showed up for work the next morning... When they sent someone to check on him, they found him on the couch, dead. The coroner determined he died from a heart attack.

So here I am trying my best to live the plans we made together. I've stuck with the "big picture" as we created it that night. I'm 18 weeks pregnant. 24 August is the date. I've heard the heartbeat twice. It was strong. I had the first ultrasound today. There are some questions, though. Not all is as rosy as I had wished. I will need to go back in two weeks & I'm a bit worried.

I'm not going to find out if it's a boy or a girl. The child has a name. It's a name with meaning, a name the child will have whether it's a boy or a girl. Like Noah and Nathan have Hebrew "N" names, so this child will have a Hebrew "N" name, too. I will continue on with my class, teaching part-time.

So far, so good. It's all as carefully thought out as plans can be thought out. But, life happens - with or without a plan. I'm not taking anything for granted anymore.