Vic died on Wednesday. Though we had been expecting his death for years it was still shocking how quickly he changed from shuffling around giving my mom a hard time (on Friday) to incoherent and bedridden.
The trip was great, Miles took on every new experience with gusto - and regaled a bus full of New Yorkers with his delightful version of the Alphabet song - choreographed with the crossing of his arms for the letter X and unfortunately the letter S.

My car needs a new tire - which means we buy 4 new tires. :( I think the frowning face just sort of sums up that aspect of the luxury car ownership. You play - you pay.
Careening back into my life here after 6 days of hectic fun provided a small burst of culture shock. Work is dull and annoying, but not hell - and so I'm glad. My world is, at the moment, cool and quiet. Mom arrives soon to help me salvage what cherries are left on the tree. She is doing fine - but is faced with the task of reinventing herself, which is a little daunting. Meanwhile, the romance books are beginning to bother me, the contrivance is becoming too obvious, and worse yet, I'm feeling let down that I'm not young rich and beautiful (and having 4 orgasms a night). So I'm reading this month's Atlantic. Is it too late for me to try to be brilliant? Maybe not - but I need a topic and now!
So I just wrote the Subject line - trying to form my thoughts and not ramble - and I am stuck on the mundanity of death. It is thoroughly unpleasant, and was sad and uncomfortable. On my own behalf I am sad that he died in my beloved living room - the death rattle escalating through the hours in the rooms of my lovely house (I am so fond of that house on Claremont). I was horrified for my mother. There were no tears though. I felt far more at the passing (I'm embracing the euphemism) of my cherished pets. I still miss Kirby. And, though I think I know better, I worry that Mom and I are more hardened to death. There is no profound sense of loss, no agony over the unknown or known parts of being and not being. Vic is gone - and Mom lives.
SO I will ramble. And perhaps you will read this all. I wonder at the feeling. The great feelings of love and loss that I currently don't have access to. Does make me wonder if this is just another part of my aging process. I'm looking fro my car keys and my passion.

So Miles is totally the funniest kid on the planet. Last night we were on a search for the missing Croc.Dad joined the search and asked Miles - Where is your other Croc. Miles replied - (elbows bent and down, hands open palms up) - "I just don't know!!!" But he search - "Not under the couch!" "Not in the bathroom!" He had a running commentary - until I found it (behind the bedroom door) and he went on a victory lap around the house, the croc held high.

I just finished reading the latest installment of a series of essays on grief. Slate.com - Meghan O'Rourke. Grief. I'm into the happy stuff, don't want to read about evil dictators, twitter, corporate failure, car accidents.... it goes on. There are a lot of things I won't read about.

So why was I (or anyone) willing to spend so much time on the brink of tears?

First thought, a shout out to the intellectual, this is the appreciation of wonderful writing. I'll often give things a look, briefly, if I like the construction of the sentences, the lovely flow of images. But I don't finish them. I have a book on my nightstand about a child dying of...something, that I can't even start (for years now), that I am told is really very good.

And the personal connection. Well, hell. That's the secret we want to believe we have just exposed. Grief, loss, strong emotions, and....personal, and suddenly it is mine, my grief, my suffering. And my hackles are raised - because it isn't my loss. It's hers. The author, Ms. O'Rourke has laid her experience and raw emotions out there - on the internet. She has also done some wonderful analysis, scientific and poetic. So I understand better, and know that there is just feeling.The thrill of romance, and the pain of loss is part of the grasping at strong connections.

Yet there is the shame of voyeurism and most horribly, of appropriating someone else's pain. It reminds of the (admittedly cheap) thrill of the romance novel.

One thing leads to another. I have Pandora on for background music here at work - and hear I'm Alive (Jackson Browne). So I whip out the IPod for the rest of the album. Catchy beats, sweet melodies and the saddest lyrics ever.

More about the weather - while it is still so lovely. I must put into words the green green grass, the coolness, the pale daffodils and pink azaelias. The fruit trees, all sticks of branches covered in frothy light whites and pinks. The tulip tree (saucer magnolia) is alive with flowers as the camelia is just nodding off for the season.
There are warm warm afternoons and cool evenings. Butterflys but no wasps. I said it was perfect didn't I?

I think Miles' growing has slowed for the moment - he is slimming down, no baby fat in the face of thighs or belly. And he was already tall for his age - last measurement was 38". It's hard to get him to stand still long enough, he is always moving.
Yesterday, though the weather was perfect, he wanted to watch Tarzan. Specifically scenes 7-9 where young Tarzan jumps off a cliff into the lake where elephants are gathered. He swims underwater until he gets close enough to jump up and grab and elephants tail - in order to procure a elephant hair. The beasts are spooked, chaos ensues. We watched the scene over and over. He talks about it over dinner and every chance he gets. The only substitute is some other elephant featuring entertainment. Horton Hears a Who and Junge Book (1 & 2). The season of elephants - will it be the year of elephant?

And now it is summer.
I'm using my own standards here. Most people still think of this as spring... and it is, sort of. The temperature yesterday got to the upper 70s. Mornings and evenings are still cool, but it always cools off here at night. The bulbs won't last much longer, and I'm feeling a sense of urgency about getting the vegetables planted. DB wants to build a garden shed before we put in a garden, so I can replay the weekend conversations from previous springtime garden planning chats. Should it be sited in the opposite corner from the barn - for design balance or closer to the barn so water and electrictiy or easier to install? 3 glass walls or 2? Shingles, like the barn? what kind of door? A deck maybe and shed off back to house the larger tools. I really just want boxes with wire bottoms to discourage the gophers filled with garden dirt. In the sun. I'll carry the freakin water out to it.
Well, I probably won't do that, but the hose might reach. Or better yet, I will plant in the same boxes I've used for year - and avoid the now shaded areas. And the wine barrells can be moved - and can each hold some kind of vegie plant...so. I'll make my own plans.