A dark rainy winter that has filled the house with blue light. Not melancholy in tone, just still. Things are quiet, yet alive with the sounds of cat feet racing across the floors and diving from bookcases. Occasionally climbing window screens. I’m still here. Doing all the usual December, January, and now February things. I wrote an obituary. Am making a trip to Santa Cruz in a couple of weeks to collect some of Bobi’s ashes. I’ll scatter some in Joshua Tree in the spring. I still wear her old blue sweater most nights around the house. Whenever I’m in Lacy Park I imagine I can see her poking her head from around a large tree. Walking towards me. I replay our old video chats and laugh and laugh at how silly we were. I cry too. I knew this was coming. We both did. We talked about it. Knowing something will arrive is not the same as it arriving. Trying in advance to comprehend GONE isn’t possible. But I’m glad we talked about everything.
Oh great unknowable world! Filled with mystery and so much beauty and heartache. We do our best to prepare, but mostly we’re winging it. I am anyway.
I haven’t been drawing much, but I did crack open the sketchbook a few times to scribble a few things. Most of my drawing takes place during the Tuesday faculty meetings at school.
I started a sheep needlepoint. My first! It will probably take me 20 years to finish it. I think I have enough time, but you never know.
I sound morose, but I’m not. Although at times my heart feels like a marble rolling around in a cardboard box all by itself. I watch cindeemindy from New Jersey on Tik Tok and dance along with her. I go outside and crane my neck up to look at the stars most nights. Send smoke signals to Bobi which curl upward and disappear. I track the position of the moon across the sky. Collect shells on the beach. Walk up secret staircases in the hills. Look for clues. I meant to tell her about the vapors I see around plants at night in the summer, but I never did. She would have had theories. When I get home with my latest Trader Joe’s haul I see if I have picked up anything she’d want to know about.
Next year is my very last year in the classroom. I’ll retire in June of 2025. No matter what. I’ve decided not to hold out for more dough. I’ll take what I get and I won’t get upset. I want to enjoy as many years as possible NOT working. I’ll probably miss the kids a little, but I won’t miss grading papers, report cards, parent conferences, faculty meetings, evaluations, fire drills, hissy fits, broken air conditioners.
That sums up my February postcard to you, gentle reader. Let’s go forth into the spring and do some things we’ve never done before, okay?