It’s a snowy March day in Wyoming and I’ve been thinking a lot about my Dad today. It’s true what people say, that the grief comes in waves. There are good days and bad days. Days when I don’t want to think or talk about it at all, and days where I can’t quite focus fully on anything else because he is on my mind. Some days it feels good to cry, and other days…
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Sundays are for wandering down new dirt roads. No words today, just pictures. (Photos taken with my old trusty Canon Powershot.)
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One month. One month ago I was sitting at home on my yoga mat preparing a music playlist for my class and my brother called. “You need to come home Roz.” His voice cracked, “It’s time.” It’s a blur after that. A call to Michael, searching for a flight, packing, waiting, worrying, crying into Penny’s fur, laying down for an hour that felt useless, a four hour drive to Denver in the middle of the…
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It’s a quiet Sunday. Grey. Michael and I raked the billions of fallen leaves in our yard today, which was somewhat of a feat in the Wyoming wind. It was the kind of day that calls for cozy socks and a nap. Our wood stove is back in regular use, our only (chosen) means of heat through the winter months. Michael and I took the dogs for a walk and the town felt more still…
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A couple of weeks ago, Michael came home and happily declared, “I bought a boat!” And indeed, I walked outside to find a weathered 14 foot aluminum drift boat behind the garage. “Are you sure it’s gonna float?” I asked, eyeing its most recent registration sticker, marked 1983. We were both in diapers the last time this thing was on the water. “I hope so,” he said, “And if it does, it’ll be the best…
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