the end of the year

so here we are at the end of the year, and I am thinking about what i have learned. I learned I need to create, in ways that feel creative to me, as I am doing the work, letting the work through me, it is not optional. it is nourishment. it is essential. I have learned that too much work is not the blessing it may appear to be, but can impact everything in ways that feel like suffocation. that right work in right amounts is delicious. i have learned that my body and mind are brave and that my panic was/is pain trying to express itself. be heard. be understood. be accepted. and pushing it down and away is impossible. pull up a chair and listen, katekate. That is what it needs. after panic I need rest. full rest. sleep or distraction. I need to refill. i have learned I am not good at that. I bullshit myself. I am excellent at that. time to trade a little of my excellence in bs into excellence in self care. unapologetic. simply necessary. i have learned that I need connection that is simple. and I need conversations that are complex. that I need beauty that is simple. and beauty that is beyond imagining. I need to make space(s) for myself and within myself to hold who I am growing into, so I don't take the shape of an old container like a pot bound plant. I define the shape by my growing. i have learned that loving others is what I am here to do. and that others includes me. i have learned that doing my best work means telling the truth, even silently to myself. i have learned that I can speak, and that the listening is not up to me. but that I can speak in ways that make it more likely to be heard. I have learned that my enthusiasm can be a deterrent. too much. and the best I can do is laugh and call it what it is, and know that it is a filter. if I am too much, then maybe the work is not the right work, or the person is not the right fit, or the time is not right. my enthusiasm is a gift. but so is my conscious awareness of others. let me bring both together more harmoniously in the new year. i have learned that my changing body does not mean I have to reject myself because I am no longer familiar. it is an invitation to renew my own familiarity with this place I call home. recognizing I am in a time of rapid and chaotic transition. my needs will change as fast as my topography and my chemistry, and i need to cultivate self compassion, curiosity and fluidity in adapting. I have learned that love can be deep and distant, can be simple and complicated. that I can love and be loved and not understand or be understood. and that understanding is simply not as necessary as acceptance. If I wish to be accepted as myself. i need to accept others as themselves too. it goes both ways. both. in and out. out and in. like breath. i have learned that my mosaic of friends and family create the reality of my support system. that no one can hold the whole of my needs and no one should. I have learned to be a better piece in the mosaic of others'. I cannot be everything to anyone else either. i have learned that i know shit about parenting and my history of abuse and codependence makes this so so hard as I dance the crazy impossible certain to fail dance of conflict avoidance... but am doing my best with a smart sensitive spirited sprite whose energy outpaces mine like an Australian sheep dog. i am learning the difference between reacting and responding. this, my friends, is slow painful learning. i have learned how much of my life is tethered by a self I tend to so rarely. the one who is me. not the roles, the duties, the actions, the work. but this kateness, this one. this one who sits and writes and words come out like salty water of tears of joy and relief, face turned upwards toward whatever is out there, that connects with all and the everything, including all that is in here.

My real books just came.

My books, my real books just came. Not the proofs. Not proof #2 or #3 or #4.
Holy shit people, my book is on Amazon.

This, for me, is beyond huge. Getting this work out into the world feels crucial, and yet, getting it out into the world means telling my story out loud.
Funny thing about this: folks say YAY! what's your book about?
and I choke.
I am happy. I am sad. I am complicated and complex. This is a heart wrenching and yet cathartic and healing thing to do, to offer, to expose.

So. I am being gentle with myself, and hoping that the book finds its way into the hands that need it, and that my words, my journey, somehow offer solace to someone else.


***

A Field Guide to Grief: If you’ve lost your partner to suicide

Available now in paperback, or Kindle
by Kate Johnson
Link:http://amzn.com/1511433442

 

Losing a partner or spouse to suicide is shattering. This small book speaks directly to the survivor, starting from the beginning of the grief journey. Offering compassion and acknowledgment, survival tools and suggestions, these are kind and wise words from someone who’s been there.

 “if you have lost a partner to suicide, you will find a new friend named kate in these pages. out of the hard-won wisdom of her own loss, she offers you this field guide. a field guide, truly, as the pages feel like a field… breathable, open, + paradoxically peaceful. the rhythm of it all works beautifully between the ebb of uncluttered white space + flow of helpful words… a needed + good book for anyone walking through this heart-rending loss.” –rachel awes, psychologist, author, + art playgroundist rachelawes.com

“…a lovely resource for folks who are fresh into big pain. I’ll be happy to recommend this [book] to my clients.” –Dr. Martha Jo Atkins honors the deeply spiritual experience of death by providing compassionate witness to the dying, and support for healing transformation to the bereaved. marthaatkins.com

My note to you: This is a difficult book. A sad book. A real book informed by love and understanding that in grief, there is no time to sift through case studies and anecdotes. I get right down to the core. It is about acute grief and navigating the immediate experience of loss. It is about living with grief and living with loss and the loss of identity. It is about self protection and permission. It is about survival. My own experience was one of breath-by-breath choices, to keep moving forward, to not lose myself, to choose to heal and go on, over and over and over again. If you need this book, I am so sorry. But if you need this book, I am so glad you have found your way here,  and I hope beyond hope that my words offer you solace.

 

If you are not in grief and want to support me by buying a book, please do (and thank you!). Please consider donating it to an organization or individual who works with folks in acute grief. A funeral home, for example… I could have used this book the second day if not the first. Someone else may too.

the space in between

where have I been
busy, yes,
moving, yes
and being
yes
and trying to find my way.
minimal childcare and the new old house and art shows and client work and managing my own ongoing grief work and anxiety.

i asked my new therapist about the grief, the why now, the what the hell, the why, the why, the why
and she said that grief does not have a time table.
it is not about calendars
it is about when you are strong enough

strong enough to come apart
strong enough to weather the storms, I guess. bend, not break. or break and mend. or break and make patterns with the pieces and call it art.

so this has been hard, strangely and unexpectedly.

grief and shame and oh
wow
just so much of that.

and a vulnerability, raw, perpetual, just below the joy.

so I find myself laughing
I find myself
I am painting a little but not as much as I need to (4 shows in 2015!)
not as much as I need to for me

still finding my way into my new identity as  Kate.
not Engineer.
or Director.
or Scientist.
or Professional.

just, Kate.

I told my sister today, light can't get in if there are no cracks.
I hold my hands open, a bowl, to welcome the light.

wishing on you all, and us all, peace and fullness and hope and laughter, health and wellness and humor and moments of bliss. i send you big love.

so much

yesterday, my amazing Della turned 4.
4.

I cannot believe it, but here we are. She is amazing, dazzling, delightful, dramatic. She is her own fine self and don't you forget it. She is tender and bright as hell.

Today, we signed the papers for a small (read: tiny) house. This week is all about moving. And with that, and birthdays, a time for reflection and projection, and I am working, breath by breath, to remain or return to the Now.

I brush my face against her hair and breathe in.
Now, I say.
Here.

So much.

Photos soon.
xo

My art show!

In the Denver area?  Please come! And please let me know how you know me. I'll be there without Doug and Della, but with my awesome dad and dear friend Liz. (I AM SO EXCITED!!!)

https://www.facebook.com/events/574612582667607

4 years ago (aka winning the lottery)

4 years ago tonight, I was at home, wondering what might be happening with the two little embryos that had been transferred that morning... I was feeling oddly happy. Optimistic even.
http://www.i-cant-whistle.blogspot.com/2010/02/happy.html

Right now, one of those two little cell clusters is sitting on Doug, saying Again, Daddy-- I am bringing the baby to the doctor for a shot, but not an ouchy shot, a gentle shot...you be the doctor.

A billion and a half shots later, here we are.
holy moly.
How amazing is that.

rocked

today is my last day with a 2 year old.
how is that possible? truly... astonishing.

I was thinking back to before, as if it is a different lifetime. Standing at the fridge with the vials of liquid gold. Hoping for the best with each stinging injection, each stylized ritual.
There was a rhythm to it. The cycles, I mean.
And now, it is all downhill wild rush of in-the-moment-ness, yes with moments of foreshadowing and some of nostalgia.
Was she ever little? She is so big now.
Was I ever not this person? This one, this tired one with the biggest most filled and overflowing heart? This one, struggling and blessed, competent, incompetent, flailing, tender?
This one who is loving more and more and more and realizing, bone deep, that love has NOTHING to do with ease, and everything to do with mystery.

I hate when folks talk about marriage being work
and parenting being work
and work work work
hard hard hard
i thought, great, thanks for that. welcome! I wanted to hear, welcome to the best things ever!

and it is the best thing ever,
but to be honest, a lot of it is hard. hard hard. hard because there has never been a me doing this before, parenting this amazing child, learning these things in these moments.
i am humbled and awed and feel as if there is KNOWING that is just over there, that if I could just reach out and touch it, I could socket into a river of knowing, a river of ease, a river of being able to go with the flow of this without so much internal struggle and doubt.

it is the hardest most wonderful thing I have ever done, have ever had done to me, have ever taken part in doing.
there is no ease in this.
there are easy moments, moments that feel like silk, calm water under calm sky.
gentle.

but most of this truly is a mad rush.
a mad rush flying by in a twirly skirt wearing wings
or flashing impatience
or laughing hard enough to reach the very core of the earth and the heavens above.
my earth is being rocked, people. In every moment.

I am learning by the moment, learning how to be(more) centered in the storm, how to create safety, when to walk away, how to get down on my knees, hold my arms out, and welcome a sad being close, when no magic can happen but everything is magical that is happening...
I am learning to hold on and let go of ideas of plans of expectations of self judgement...
I am learning and relearning and relearning.
I am in need of a well to recharge and want quite desperately to build a tiny reserve so my patience does not end like a cliff dive onto rocks bristled with barnacles.
it runs out. just. like. that. and I suddenly hate the way my voice sounds, my chest feels, my face feels, my eyes, my mouth, as if I have been hijacked.
I am learning to get up, or go inwards. I am trying to learn to shut my mouth. Breathe.

but the thing I am learning most is how rarely I give my full attention.
and this may be the saddest thing.
the phone, email, internet, connection with things *out there*, pull at me all the time. I don't want to miss out, and in so doing I am missing out
on this
this miraculous now.

so my intention truly is to spend more time present. even if it is in one minute increments.
the space of 10 breaths.
focus, singularly, as singularly as possible on this amazing person.

I know this is about me me me and you want to know about Della Della Della and that will come, I promise.

Journeys: Tenderness

Being with a being who is dying is profound.

I have dealt with life.

I have dealt, on some level, with the aftermath of death.

But I have never dealt with, been with, allowed myself to contemplate the process, the fact of dying.

I am tender in the tenderest ways. Teary and broken open. Wanting to not fuck this up, wait too long to intervene, not wanting to intervene if intervention is not necessary.

I want to honor this creature's innate wisdom and cathood.

I want to honor our relationship and the vast love I feel and have received.

I want to honor ALL of this, the being and now, the transition into whatever is next.

He feels more and more internal now, quiet and often sleeping. He has stopped eating. I have stopped forcing him to try. I feel he is spending more time on whatever is next, and less time here, on being here, staying here. But he is still here, still jumping up onto the bed, still drinking water, still looking at me in a way that shows he is still here with me in those moments.

I know everyone would make different choices, but I am trying to make the right ones here and now for this person (me) and this amazing creature (Finn), and navigating this feels like the most awesome space of not knowing, wishful thinking, and something like intermittent acceptance. This sucks. But this is what it is. In this moment, he is curled up, not too tightly-- I can see the fluff of his surprisingly white belly, and the stripes that curl down his sides that are the deepest black. I can see the white line down the bridge of his nose, his white whiskers, how his breath moves his sides so slightly I can barely see it.
He seems peaceful, in this moment. In this moment, I am not. I feel all tied up, knotted with grief, and so very unsettled since I am allowing myself to be present in a way I would not have expected.

I am astonished at the depth of what I feel, the complexity one moment, the simplicity the next. LOVE< I keep telling myself, move from there. Witness from there. Choose from there.

And sometimes it means running in circles wailing. And sometimes it means sitting and not poking him, but enjoying his quiet companionship, even just in this moment. Even if it is just for this moment.

Della at 2.75 going on 14

My wee teenager.

We are in the thick of it, rolling eyes, crossed arms, humphing. The impatience and impertinence.  

It would be more funny if I were less tired, more capable. Hey, I do realize this: this is about doing the best you can. Sometimes that is pretty good, sometimes it isn't, it's awkward and I spend my day uglyfaced, short tempered and unfun. But sometimes, sometimes it is pure magic.

She is immense, people, truly. Immensely herself. All of this will serve her well later in life.

She is immense, and she is encouraging me to become more than I ever imagined.

What an awkward gift that is.

No, I say, No. No a million ways, a million times.

I disappoint. I just do. It's built in. If you told me that I would do this, over and over, knowingly, I would have told you you were crazy, it is * SO UNKATE*.

But here I am.

And however unfun the moments, 

however awkward some of the gifts,

however tired my tired ass truly is (it is no longer dragging, dragging indicates motion, and motion indicates energy)

however much I fantasize about sleep or resilience or reserve or calmness in the face of it all

however much I fantasize about whatever it was I fantasized about when I still had braincells

this

this is so much MORE.

pure magic, with a side of snark.

Losing Papa

Doug's grandpa died early this morning.
He was grandpa and father and friend. He was bedrock. It is hard knowing that this loss brings every other kind of shift away from all that could be counted on, a house that was home will be gone most likely, and all the history that it contains.
But memories, those will last if we're lucky.
The smell of caramel cake, and a deep throated laugh, the world's most horrendous teeth...
I will always remember our visit in March, he met our amazing Della, and I rubbed lotion into his hands. And I confess, I took longer than I needed to, imagining all those hands had touched.

2 della photos

Two photos from sunday:

kindness

Because there world is filled with so much hate, and it is so much what we hear every time we turn on the news....
this made me cry in a very very happy way.

kindness is *so simple*--

LOVE, with ears.

first hair cut, penguins and imagination

First: penguins. No, not my most embarrassing but sincere penguins-in-flight issue of last year, no no... this one is
RANDOM PENGUINS
seriously, my friends, worth a look, often a laugh.

Second: Della's first haircut. I mean, not just the cut off the random tangle, but a real ok, pretend-I'm-Brave edward scissor-hands sort of topiary frenzy quick before she freaks out, here's some chocolate bits... resulting in a wad-o-hair that was, well, just shy of three bags full:

A pre-cut photo from NOVEMBER for comparison:

And immediately post-haircut from monday with headband

And without (a little too neat, methinks, but hey, it will grow wild again)

 

I do have a massive regret, two actually-- one, of course, is not taking an immediately-before-photo.
And second, that I did not take a photo (or have one taken) of her wildhair in silhouette before cutting it. It was MAGNIFICENT in every way except anything that had to do with practicality. And I swear, it was getting the kind of knotted that turns to dreads and we are not ready to go there.  Maybe later but not quite yet.  So now I feel compelled to let it grow back out so we can get that photo. Ahhh regret. You suck rocks.

I've been having trouble with finding products.  Some from Mixed Chicks sounded *so promising* but they were SO INTENSELY SMELLY I literally could not use them.  Not just fragranced but so highly fragranced, that really, just, no. I mean, no way. I did not even put them on her hair.

Now we are using a california baby detangle spray in "CALMING" (for momma) and it smells wonderful and not strongly of anything once on, but it not quite moisturizing enough.  Ok internet land, suggestions? any other wildhaired babies out there with fine curly insane manes?  Anything NOT SMELLY that works for moisture?

Della talks about her big blue car and her big blue house. She talks about "tomorrow". (We will go in my big blue car to my big blue house tomorrow to play with friends)

We play make believe as often as possible-- I ask her questions about her stories and totally enjoy every single moment of everything.

She is singing and making up words to songs we know, and oh, it is really funny. Mary had a big blue car, big blue car.... yeah. I am loving the imagination stuff more than I can articulate.

Sprogblogger recently had a post that included a list of books that her beloved Henry is devouring.
I love books. I love reading. Reading has saved my ass, fed my soul, transported me away and toward, educated me, opened my mind, fulfilled me, left me longing and breathless, made me laugh, taken me on journeys, fed me feasts, ohhhhhhhh reading.
I imagined this: every day I would read to Della and every night we would read before bed.
Reality: sometimes we read, sometimes we don't. Sometimes we binge and read and read and read, and then days pass without one book.
OH how that pains me, but it is our reality. It is her rhythm.
I read one whole chapter of wind in the willows out loud while she played on day. But that was exactly once.  Play, for Della, is INTERACTIVE. Yes indeed.
So that was anomalous.

The llama llama books are way too intense for my sensitive little one (we are working on emotional stuff other ways),  so although there is a great love of llamas, we don't read them at all.
YAY for everything from Sandra Boynton. And the little version of the alphabet book by Seuss. (Big A little a what begins with A)...
YAY for barefoot books (what's in the forest dark and deep?  and Riding my tractor...)
YAY for the other books (a visual dictionary that is totally annoying, carrot sticks with the world "carrots" underneath.. I WILL be sharpie-ing the word "Sticks")

So here's the truth. I hear stories about little ones loving books, loving being read to, loving reading or playing with books and I hear my inside voice saying "it's ok, it's just not happening yet.... "  and I hear my own longing in that. I feel my own longing because of my own relationship with books.  Seriously, I cannot imagine what I would have done (what I would do) without them.

And when, as a parent person you feel like you are missing out, or like your kid is missing out, there is a panic as if somehow we are running out of time... when in fact, we are just having a different experience.

We watch SO MANY VIDEOS it is embarassing. Why? because it is her downtime. It is when she shifts into the gear I assumed she would shift into with reading.
She imagines, and recounts, and tells *those* stories.  Talks about *those* characters.
She is so intensely kinetic, I am not surprised, really, that her stillness comes only when there is action to *watch*.  I imagine, too, that this may change as she develops her own internal movie-making capabilities, you know, the ones that get triggered by, say, hearing stories.  Say, maybe stories that are being made up, or even, you know, READ ALOUD.

tetris

there is a kind of leveling up that happens when we work hard, persevere, earn it some how...
and then there is the uncomfortable kind. the kind that happens when a generation passes, dropping away, thrusting us up to the next level whether we like it or not.

We lost our sweet Mimi this weekend. My grandmother. My mother's mother. An amazing woman, strong, buoyant.  She scared me shitless when I was little. And even when I was not so little anymore, I always felt I was disappointing her. Or doing things wrong. Or being wrong. And I hated that. I never felt like she liked me very much.

Jeff died the same month as Poppy, my grandfather, 10 years ago this coming August. And in those first months of nearly insane grief, we bonded in a way we never had before. Jeff also shared a birthday with Poppy.

Suddenly, she became so much less scary-- so much more tender and loving toward me.  Each birthday anniversary we would reach out, specially and specifically.  Each death anniversary.  It was so hard to have this shared grief be the subject of our new relationship, and I felt so torn. So relieved that we were on new footing, so very sad about why.
But no matter how complicated the "why", the past 10 years have been a different kind of gift. A gift of connection, and a totally new way of relating.  I still disappointed her.  Getting pregnant before getting married-- a cardinal sin in her playbook. But I felt we truly had a connection in a way we had not.

And now here we are.
leveling up in spite of what any of us wanted.

I will think of her red painted toes.
Her ability to float like driftwood. Truly, a freakish thing.
I will think of her laugh, and her sly grin.
I will think of the tiny pickles in a silver dish, her swedish meatballs, her mac and cheese.
I will think of the gatherings at her house, smelling of sea salt and cedar.
I will think of jean nate and dove soap.
I will think of the time she dried my hair, hard, with a towel on the deck of a large sail boat off the coast of maine, and how i cried at her sudden tenderness.
I will think of the acrid smell of Ammens powder-- when we were very little, she would have us lie on towels on her bed, and spread powder on our backs after swimming.
I will think of the slippery-soled ill-fitting sneakers she would make us wear to swim off the rocky beach.
I will think of red geraniums, and spectator pumps, and her crooked front tooth.
And I will think of how her hand felt, under mine, the last time I held it.

solstice

Sheets up over windows and windows shut tight.
It is due to be insanely hot today, tomorrow.  Without AC, we manage by tucking in, holding in the cooler night air for as long as possible, holding off the direct sunlight.

Solstice feels so fitting right now. It is a wildly transitional time for me-- I'll share more soon, but professionally I am making some good but scary shifts, some good and surprisingly focused choices, and doing some really exciting exploration for potential collaboration.

Della is amazing-- comes home filthy from playing outside every day... new words every moment.  Excellent pronunciation on hard words, and garbled-della-speak on easy ones... so many surprises.  She is starting to hold my face and look at me directly in my eyes when she thinks I have not heard her-- Oh! it is lovely.  I almost want to play that up, it is so tender.
She is suddenly calling me Mommy instead of Momma (sad kate) and calls herself Me, and knows what Mine is. She knows she is Della. She also says "I".

June 15, 2012 was the day of WHY.  Why? She asked, and asked again and again and again and has not stopped.  And so, it has begun.

She is mobile and fearless, wanting to climb and slide and swing and jump.  She cannot jump yet, but tries. She dances and sings to herself, and gets into little tunes and repeats words (upanddown) as songs.

She loves being outside, wants to go on many walks. Wants very badly (just like momma) for wild animals to come and play with her, and is bereft when they run away or fly away.

She loves Llamas.

We have a farm we visit, and it is wonderful.

This weekend we'll head to Maine to see Doug who is up for the season.

We're managing days by having a rhythm, aided by Elmo (praise Elmo)--  I am clean because of Elmo.
She has lunch because of Elmo.  It is amazing how fast I can shower.

She hates baths, specifically, hates water running down her body. Will not get in, so sponge baths are the thing. She now has so much hair that it takes for-ev-er to wash it this way (damp washcloth instead of water)....

She loves stepping and splashing in puddles, ponds, lakes, streams  (WTF???)  so I hope there's hope.

We are still nursing, she shows no sign of slowing down here partway through month 19.
We are still co-sleeping, because it works.

This past weekend I visited the Putney School where I went for 2 years way back when... it was reunion weekend, but not for my year, so it was safe. I flew under the radar, saw my dear friend Alyssa, and Della had a blast not needing to be hand held.  Out she went into a field with a bunch of other kids (all much bigger), and I will post a photo (wee speck on right of group is BRAVE INDEPENDENT DELLA.

Way out there, fine, happy, away from me.

Independent
Brave
Unaware of being either. She just IS.
Oh, I have so much to learn from this fierce little teacher of mine.

18 months yesterday

18 months and I cannot quite get my head around this miniature moody teenager living in our midst....this dazzling beauty, so smart and funny, so sure of what she wants, the way she wants it, so unable to adjust to our slow rate of understanding, or, worse, getting it wrong.  She is ferocious, wonderful, busy, with the biggest best smile, and wonderful snorty laugh (that's my girl).  Dimples, a love of Shrek (wree) and Elmo (ELMO!), curly hair that is 8" long when stretched out that she sometimes plays with and that I play with often...
last night we lay in bed and I looked at her amazing face, right there, Right There next to mine... Sometimes I am truly breathless with wonder.

She loves to look at the moo and tars
She loves to swee (swing) and go down the slide
She loves being in the backpack on daddy Doug (back)
She loves toast (TOAST! + happy wriggly dance)
She loves finding patterns that she knows, apples, frogs, dogs, cats, cows, stars...
She loves cake, she calls it, excitedly, dirt! (dellaspeak for dessert).

She hates baths, truly...
and is not fond of diaper changes
does not like being rushed into dressing if she is not ready
will not try new foods except the rare sometimes or when daddy sneaks it in 

She is not fond of the car, gets impatient with drives quickly, and sometimes fights a great big sad fight when we get in...

She runs and dances and climbs and seems fearless (oy!)
She loves being held until she doesn't.
She is tender and fierce.
She says a good firm unapologetic No, and a very happy Yes (yeah yeah yeah)

She asks about Dada when he is not home yet, or in the other room, or sleeping... and just about jumps out of her skin in happiness when he appears.
She runs toward me when I pick her up at daycare, and shows me everything. Gardens, sandbox, slide, big rock, big stumps, dirt...

Firmly into 2T clothes, size 6 shoes getting tight, and on the cusp of size 5 diapers...

Della. Wow. 18 months already. DELIGHT.

(crazy great photos by Susan Mullen www.susanmullenphotography.com/blog)

crazy good

Just back from a weekend in Maine to celebrate our almost two year anniversary! I can't quite believe that, but to celebrate, we asked our amazingly gifted and talented friend and life photographer Susan Mullen to do some family photos up at the location of the wedding.

It was a day almost completely unlike our wedding, it was so warm! No rain/snow!  But so very beautiful. We played around and she took photos in the windy wild grasses, and, well, the results are amazing.

CRAZY GOOD.

Please stop by her blog to see more and and say hello.

this morning

Our real life. 

anniversary

Wind and rain and cold, almost like the day we married!

Want to see more? Now that we are not trying to be private here, here is the link to the amazing photos from the insanely talented and totally lovely Susan Mullen!

What a year it's been. Holy moly.

While there are (many) things I would change if I could, there are some things I would do all over again without hesitation,

like

standing on that bluff that cold day, snow spitting down on us...

bundled under my dress in a turtleneck, long johns and wool socks, and cozied with a big sweater and scarf, dang it was cold

there I was, pregnant with Della,

marrying Doug.

I would do it again in a second.