8.10.2008
NH Day 5: Coming Home
On Tuesday morning, we went out to get berries as usual, though I sadly didn't take any pictures. We found very few, since we had gotten so many on previous days. Before we packed up to head out to the airport, we went down the road to a huge rock on a hill across from Sue and Tony's house, a rock that's very special for Bill's family. It's where the ashes of several of his relatives are scattered, including those of his first wife, Eileen. Mom has had our dog Daisy's ashes in a box since Daisy died almost two years ago but hasn't known what to do with them, but when she found out about this memorial rock in NH, she decided that scattering them here would be perfect.
We had a little remembrance of Daisy, peppered with stories about her crazy personality. I remembered how, despite her wild temper, she loved my late stepfather Bill unconditionally — he was definitely her favorite — and all of these mental snapshots flew through my head of the two of them playing together, roughhousing and such, and of Bill trying to pretend like he wasn't as attached to her as he was. I also remembered aloud how if a bunch of us were standing around, talking to each other and not paying attention to her, she'd start drawing attention to herself by chasing her tail wildly. My friends from home, who knew Daisy and her silly habits quite well, still say, "Daisy, Daisy, Daisy!" when one of us suddenly breaks out with a random statement to draw attention to herself. After we told stories, we took turns scattering her ashes and saying goodbye (enter my light-hearted comments about getting "Daisy" on our shoes).
Then it was back to the house for some very creative spatial engineering to get everything to fit in our suitcases, and we were off to the airport.
We had a fairly pleasant first flight and a *wonderful* layover in the Orlando airport. It's a nice place to have a layover, especially since we found a Bahamian bar/restaurant that had some amazing nachos that we made into our dinner. The chips were about seven different colors, including green and purple, and were smothered with cheese, sour cream, a traditional salsa, and some pigeon pea relish (sort of like blackeyed peas, very traditional in Caribbean cooking). The sweetness from the relish gave them such a unique flavor that we couldn't get over how good they were.
The Orlando airport also has these very cool tiled walkways running down the concourses, so we admired those and had some fun walking time with Kent while we waited for our flight to start boarding.
We got in on time, but oh-so-late at night for our little boy, who slept through the entire second flight (from before the plane took off until the moment I stood up to collect my bag in New Orleans). He also fell asleep in the car on the way home, so when we got back to our house around 10:45, we changed him into pajamas (he fell asleep during that, too) and put him right to bed.
It was a lovely trip all around, with many reminders about the importance of family, old and new, and inspiration in unexpected places.
We had a little remembrance of Daisy, peppered with stories about her crazy personality. I remembered how, despite her wild temper, she loved my late stepfather Bill unconditionally — he was definitely her favorite — and all of these mental snapshots flew through my head of the two of them playing together, roughhousing and such, and of Bill trying to pretend like he wasn't as attached to her as he was. I also remembered aloud how if a bunch of us were standing around, talking to each other and not paying attention to her, she'd start drawing attention to herself by chasing her tail wildly. My friends from home, who knew Daisy and her silly habits quite well, still say, "Daisy, Daisy, Daisy!" when one of us suddenly breaks out with a random statement to draw attention to herself. After we told stories, we took turns scattering her ashes and saying goodbye (enter my light-hearted comments about getting "Daisy" on our shoes).
Then it was back to the house for some very creative spatial engineering to get everything to fit in our suitcases, and we were off to the airport.
We had a fairly pleasant first flight and a *wonderful* layover in the Orlando airport. It's a nice place to have a layover, especially since we found a Bahamian bar/restaurant that had some amazing nachos that we made into our dinner. The chips were about seven different colors, including green and purple, and were smothered with cheese, sour cream, a traditional salsa, and some pigeon pea relish (sort of like blackeyed peas, very traditional in Caribbean cooking). The sweetness from the relish gave them such a unique flavor that we couldn't get over how good they were.
The Orlando airport also has these very cool tiled walkways running down the concourses, so we admired those and had some fun walking time with Kent while we waited for our flight to start boarding.We got in on time, but oh-so-late at night for our little boy, who slept through the entire second flight (from before the plane took off until the moment I stood up to collect my bag in New Orleans). He also fell asleep in the car on the way home, so when we got back to our house around 10:45, we changed him into pajamas (he fell asleep during that, too) and put him right to bed.
It was a lovely trip all around, with many reminders about the importance of family, old and new, and inspiration in unexpected places.
Labels: canines, eating out, family, my stepdad, photography, travel
- posted by erica 8/10/2008 10:34:00 PM
- 1 comments
7.07.2005
It's me!
What?? Where? (Turning around to see what's behind me...) It's been so long since my last post, I was worried that Blogger might not recognize me when I logged in. So it goes.
I didn't feel much like writing after my stepdad died in May. Actually, I did feel like writing, but I didn't feel like blogging, because I didn't know what to say on my blog about such a loss that wouldn't sound trite. All I came up with was the following sentence: "I can't wrap my mind around the concept of my mother as a widow." It's been rougher for me for her than it has been for me alone, leading her and others to suggest that perhaps I'm not really dealing with it. Perhaps I'm not. Time will allow me to do that, and if not time, then therapy. I want to go to LSU's counseling center, but it's hard for me to get started with therapy, the same way it's hard for me to get started with anything unknown. Give me time.
One of the amazing things about a person dying, which I think is sort of his last gift to us after he dies, is that loved ones gather to remember him and enjoy each other's love and support. Everyone always says something like "Terrible circumstances, but it's great to see you." It was hard, but I felt so blessed to spend time with my stepsisters (plus sig others and my new nephew), my stepbrother, my grandparents, and my aunt and uncle from Colorado. The house was full, and people were everywhere, which Bill would have just loved. We did a remembrance thing hosted by my uncle, who's a minister, and we shared memories and wrote down words that attempted to sum up Bill's amazing life on post-it notes. It can't be done. One of the things I've recently learned about memory is that there's an inherent logic in the fact that we don't remember every single thing that's happened to us. We forget some things, we augment emotions of other things, all in an attempt to make our experiences meaningful. If all I had was an objective memory file of every time Bill touched my life, it would be complete, but cold. As it is, I have meaningful memories of his ridiculous sense of humor, his laugh (when his lips disappeared), his "yello" as he answered the phone, the way he loved my mom, the manner in which he lived respecting others, the way he struck up conversations with grocery store clerks and other people the rest of us sometimes ignore... we're all better for having been influenced by him.
I hope you'll remember to check back here if you've gotten out of the habit, now that I'm a participating member of the blogosphere again. I'll give you a few days to adjust to my reentry. =)
I didn't feel much like writing after my stepdad died in May. Actually, I did feel like writing, but I didn't feel like blogging, because I didn't know what to say on my blog about such a loss that wouldn't sound trite. All I came up with was the following sentence: "I can't wrap my mind around the concept of my mother as a widow." It's been rougher for me for her than it has been for me alone, leading her and others to suggest that perhaps I'm not really dealing with it. Perhaps I'm not. Time will allow me to do that, and if not time, then therapy. I want to go to LSU's counseling center, but it's hard for me to get started with therapy, the same way it's hard for me to get started with anything unknown. Give me time.
One of the amazing things about a person dying, which I think is sort of his last gift to us after he dies, is that loved ones gather to remember him and enjoy each other's love and support. Everyone always says something like "Terrible circumstances, but it's great to see you." It was hard, but I felt so blessed to spend time with my stepsisters (plus sig others and my new nephew), my stepbrother, my grandparents, and my aunt and uncle from Colorado. The house was full, and people were everywhere, which Bill would have just loved. We did a remembrance thing hosted by my uncle, who's a minister, and we shared memories and wrote down words that attempted to sum up Bill's amazing life on post-it notes. It can't be done. One of the things I've recently learned about memory is that there's an inherent logic in the fact that we don't remember every single thing that's happened to us. We forget some things, we augment emotions of other things, all in an attempt to make our experiences meaningful. If all I had was an objective memory file of every time Bill touched my life, it would be complete, but cold. As it is, I have meaningful memories of his ridiculous sense of humor, his laugh (when his lips disappeared), his "yello" as he answered the phone, the way he loved my mom, the manner in which he lived respecting others, the way he struck up conversations with grocery store clerks and other people the rest of us sometimes ignore... we're all better for having been influenced by him.
I hope you'll remember to check back here if you've gotten out of the habit, now that I'm a participating member of the blogosphere again. I'll give you a few days to adjust to my reentry. =)
Labels: family, my stepdad, observations
- posted by erica 7/07/2005 05:06:00 PM
- 4 comments
5.04.2005
All grown up
I feel like an adult now. Let us not overlook the fact that I turned 25 on Sunday, which, let's face it, is old (she says, tongue-in-cheek). But that's not why I feel like a grown-up today. Today was the first time I actually enjoyed a cup of black coffee.
My step-dad told me once that when he first tried coffee, he put a lot of cream and sugar in it, but he really hated it. Only later did he realize that it was the cream and sugar he didn't like, and once he got down to the actual coffee, he thought it was great. My experience wasn't exactly like that; rather, I had to train myself over a period of years to take less and less other stuff in my coffee. I used to put milk and sugar, and then I started using flavored creamers, because at least that's only one thing to add. Then I found out that cream or half & half does the job of cutting the bitterness, and it's sweet enough that I don't have to add sugar or silly expensive flavorings as well. So for a while now, I've been putting half & half in my coffee and skipping the sugar. However, out of necessity, I drank a cup of black coffee today, and I actually liked it. One of my favorite professors has a little one-cup coffee maker in his office, and I've availed myself of a cup from time to time. I smelled his freshly-brewed cup today, and so I asked if I could make myself a cup, but then I had to go help a student for a little while, so he brought me my coffee when it was done brewing, sans additives. At first, I was about to run into his office and put something in it, but then I thought, "No, I'll try this. Maybe I can handle it by now." Apparently, I can. Over time, I've gotten used to the actual coffee taste, which I used to think was bitter and horrible but now find rather comforting and invigorating.
I always thought it'd be so much easier if I could just train myself to drink black coffee, because it's more convenient not to add stuff and risk making a big mess. Additionally, I always thought I'd be cooler if I could drink it straight, because then I'd have something in common with detectives, coffee-house snobs, and the Gilmore girls. And I was right! I even feel cooler.
I've just come to the realization that I spent entirely too much time thinking about this. I really need a life.
My step-dad told me once that when he first tried coffee, he put a lot of cream and sugar in it, but he really hated it. Only later did he realize that it was the cream and sugar he didn't like, and once he got down to the actual coffee, he thought it was great. My experience wasn't exactly like that; rather, I had to train myself over a period of years to take less and less other stuff in my coffee. I used to put milk and sugar, and then I started using flavored creamers, because at least that's only one thing to add. Then I found out that cream or half & half does the job of cutting the bitterness, and it's sweet enough that I don't have to add sugar or silly expensive flavorings as well. So for a while now, I've been putting half & half in my coffee and skipping the sugar. However, out of necessity, I drank a cup of black coffee today, and I actually liked it. One of my favorite professors has a little one-cup coffee maker in his office, and I've availed myself of a cup from time to time. I smelled his freshly-brewed cup today, and so I asked if I could make myself a cup, but then I had to go help a student for a little while, so he brought me my coffee when it was done brewing, sans additives. At first, I was about to run into his office and put something in it, but then I thought, "No, I'll try this. Maybe I can handle it by now." Apparently, I can. Over time, I've gotten used to the actual coffee taste, which I used to think was bitter and horrible but now find rather comforting and invigorating.
I always thought it'd be so much easier if I could just train myself to drink black coffee, because it's more convenient not to add stuff and risk making a big mess. Additionally, I always thought I'd be cooler if I could drink it straight, because then I'd have something in common with detectives, coffee-house snobs, and the Gilmore girls. And I was right! I even feel cooler.
I've just come to the realization that I spent entirely too much time thinking about this. I really need a life.
Labels: coffee, getting older, my stepdad
- posted by erica 5/04/2005 04:45:00 PM
- 2 comments
