I've been sitting here most of the day, pushing through the papers on my desk and longing for a nap. What is it about the gluttony and excess of the holidays? Nobody was forcing me to eat!
Mmmmmm . . . so good. I have a piece of my mother's brownie - with walnuts, just like I love them. . . and about to foul my keyboard in the most egregious fashion. (Do I care??)
I spent Easter dinner with my sister (Arrrgh!!) and 26 other people yesterday. A rare event these days, as I have learned that these gatherings are sometimes difficult for me. This was an exception.
I think it's true that absence can make the heart grow fonder. I've missed my oldest niece. She is currently undergoing treatment for cancer. I expected her to be tired and wan, but in spite of her treatment she seems to be her spunky self, if not just a little quieter. It moved me to tears to see her. I had trouble at first getting to my feet to hug her. I felt so sure that I would cry. I hate morosity. . . these days I wear it on my sleeve.
I haven't seen her children since they were little. Her daughter is beautiful and gracious, and I was drawn to her. I wanted to let her know that this auntie was proud of her accomplishments and her admission to a prestigious school. She embodies the spirit of a much loved aunt. I wonder if she has any inkling of how much she resembles this woman. (Ironic, too, since biologically, they are unrelated.)
My oldest sister was warm and loving, taking time to talk to me and share insights and opinions and hugging me many times. I've missed her, too. Too much distance unnecessarily. She was upset that we didn't have much time to talk. Talk is all we do at these mob gatherings. Unfortunately, the talk hasn't much depth and is often interrupted. I promised her that I would come back for a weekend and we would do something together.
When? I'm so busy. I love all the things I am involved with, but as some of you have noted, there a times that many things don't get attended to. I guess I'll just have to give up cleaning again.
Darn.
