Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. . .

Lately, been feeling that way.

So, I’ve decided to self-medicate and have turned to

 

Yep.

Mine. 

ALL MINE.

Okay, not really. 

Maybe Mom and I were taste-testing wine to figure out what to have at Meg’s reception.  That sounds better, doesn’t it? 

So, right now I’ve got a great deal of wine in the fridge with about two sips taken out of each bottle.  Actually, I ran out of milk so I’ve been putting white zin on my Cocoa Puffs.  That box is just about empty.

Kidding.

Missing Daddy

Yesterday was the two month anniversary of my father’s death. 

Two months.  I HATE that.  I hate that he’s not here.  I hate that I’ll never get to see him get older.  I hate that his life is over.   I hate that my time with him in this life is over.   If God had asked for my input, I would have said, “How about no deaths in my family? Period.  How about You just return?”  

I am so glad that he is with God.  I am so glad that we will have eternity together.  I am so glad that I serve a God who really does promise Happily Ever After for those who are in Him—not necessarily now in this world—but that we do say, “Death, where is thy sting?”.  I just HATE, HATE, HATE that my dad is gone from this world, from my life right now.   

I cried a little bit when I was on the phone with my mom yesterday.  We weren’t talking about Daddy-- we were talking about what kind of wines to have at Meg’s wedding.  Mom made some remark like, “I don’t know wine that well.  I mean, I know Châteauneuf-du-Pape is a great wine, but I don’t really anything more than that.”  Which made me remember that we bought a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape for my Dad last year.  I remember that I was the one who picked it up from the store per Mom’s request—I can’t remember the exact occasion—birthday? Father’s Day? Just because?  Daddy was so excited when we gave him the wine.  He  was sitting in his chair and did this quiet,  kiddish, “Oh, Boy!” and then started making plans about a really special family dinner where we could open the bottle—lobster, steak. . .  As soon as Mom mentioned the wine, that memory was so vivid, so there, I started weeping.  I asked if he had ever opened the bottle, and she said that she didn’t think he had.      

There are so many things I miss, but one funny thing I’ve noticed that I’ve missed is sharing gastronomic delights with him.  If I tried a new dish, I couldn’t wait to share it with him.  If I went on vacation, I stored up so many memories about the food to share with him later.  I can’t tell you how many times Dad took me out for supper—for grades, to celebrate good news, or just because.  Or, if he wasn’t here, he would send me gift cards and tell me to take one of my friends out for supper.  The other evening, I was at a wine-tasting, and someone had made this concoction of walnuts and goat cheese drizzled with honey liqueur.  I was so sad that I couldn’t share it with him, that I couldn’t surprise him at home with the ingredients, whip it up, open a nice bottle of wine, and then spend some time talking and munching.    

I miss him so much.  He was so much fun to share news with--  he would get so excited for and with you.  If I made a great score on a test, he was usually the first I’d call.   You know how much of a let down it is to have FANTASTIC news and then everyone you share it with responds with a simple, understated, “Neat,” and you feel so let down?  That never happened with Dad.  I am so sad there is so much news I’ll never be able to share with my Dad in this life. . .    “Dad, I’m going back to school to get my masters.”  “Dad, I’ve met this boy!”  “Dad, I’m getting married!”  “Dad, I’m pregnant!”    

So, because I was in Fayetteville yesterday, I stopped by his grave.  His gravestone is up and gives his name, date of birth in death, that he was active in Vietnam and received a Bronze Star.  I didn’t share any news—I don’t want to get in the habit of thinking that his grave is where he is—I just said I missed him. 

Proof that I don’t have my act together

As if you really needed proof for that.

“Umm, Virginia, we know you.  We don’t need any further proof.  All it took was watching you alternate through the same four outfits for the last six weeks because you hate shopping and were too lazy to unpack.”

Okay, OKAY.  Shut up already!

Well, for those of you who were in any doubt, here is the proof:

• I am attempting to throw together a bridal shower for my little sister in five days and am actually expecting people to show up for it.  HA!  (I really, really hope people show up.  Please come if you love Meg.)
• I have boxes and boxes and boxes of stuff that I haven’t unpacked.  I’ve hardly settled into my parent’s home.  I’m living out of suitcases and have been for the last two and a half months.
• I haven’t read my Bible outside of church in at least four weeks.
• I start school next week—teaching and taking classes—and I have NO IDEA what my schedule is, where my classes are, what my responsibilities are, what books I need, where I should park, how I should pay for it, what I should take with me. . . I am clueless.  It’s kind of like I don’t want to know what I don’t know because if I knew all that I didn’t know, I’d freak out.  Majorly.  Like people thought Meg was the anxious person in our family until they see what crazy I can pull out of the hat.  I’m talking kah-ray-zee.  Dropping-my-basket-and-then-stomping-on-it-kinda nuts. 
• I’ve escaped into stalking people’s blogs.  The blogs are usually by women I call “friends from college”, but they aren’t.  I mean, I knew them in college, but I doubt if they remember me.  I stumbled onto their blogs while visiting their myspace/facebook pages.  It’s like they live in some kind of alternate reality--they are married and have kids and post stuff on their blogs like their “to-do” lists that read something like
• Monogram towels for Sally’s pool party
• Paint kitchen chairs black
• Wrap lampshades in twine
• Finish memorizing Ephesians for women’s Bible study.
• Art project with kids—finish mural on fence.
• Deep clean house (the first time this week just wasn’t enough!)
• Run 13.5 miles—that marathon will be here before I know it!
• Finish canning all the vegetables from 1/2 acre garden.
• Order home school curriculum for next year.
• Family fun night tonight! So that means homemade pizza!

and then they do it!  The next day their blog reads something like

Yeah.  So glad I was able to get everything on yesterday’s list.  I even had time to snuggle the kids on the couch while my sexy husband read aloud to us from the Bible and then the next chapter in Pilgrim’s Progress.   

How do they do it?  They are just made differently from me.

• The basic fact that I am sitting here blogging, BLOGGING while I have mentioned all the above ways I don’t not have it together—that I am doing THIS instead of working on THOSE.  Seriously.  Sometimes I wonder if my purpose here on earth is to make other people feel better about themselves—not because I’m some kind of fabulous encourager (which I am)—or because I make people laugh (which I do)—but because compared to me, everyone is doing fine, just fine.  

Unpacking is my kryptonite

Did I say that packing is my kryptonite?

Well, if packing is kryptonite, then unpacking is super-duper, weapons-grade, spasm-inducing kryptonite.

Especially in this heat. (Hello, heat and humidity.  Can’t say I missed you while I was in Michigan languishing by the Lake.)

Especially surrounded by spiders. (Yes, brown recluses took over while we were gone.  They just love hot, dark, empty houses.  There’s been lots of spider lovin’ so there are big ones and little ones and OHH  I WISH THEY WOULD ALL JUST DIE!! DIE!! DIE!!)

So, when I unpack a box, it’s now with the thrill of facing death in the face. 

(okay, maybe not death. . . how about severe discomfort?)

And I can’t find my camera. 

And school and job start next week

And I just wish I could get my crudola together here before I have to show up there.