Memorial Day

Such a kind review, Carol. Thank you for always being such a good friend and support. I am always teetering on the edge. Always. Of so many things and Carol has always been there to reel me back in.

I have so many wonderful writing friends. I am an introvert in most cases–which isn’t good for networking or trying to sell books–and having such caring, thoughtful, understanding people in my corner has saved me over and over again.

Yesterday was memorial day. We were at Liberty Park with thousands of other people. Everyone laughing, crying, kicking soccer balls, running through splash pads, swimming, riding the ferris wheel, screaming, singing, playing tennis. There was so much energy there and I thought, The world is full of so many wonderful people. Wonderful people with all kinds of joys and sadnesses and hopes and thoughts and complications and families and difficulties and things to look forward to and things to regret and things to plan towards.

I was holding my baby and walking on the hot cement with the three others holding onto my skirt and my husband in front of me, dragging a cooler and my bag and the chairs and the extra clothes and seemingly the whole world. The six of us, in a little pack, and I thought, I am happy.

I am tired. I get depressed. I am overwhelmed. I have a messy house. I have a messy car. I eat tapioca pudding. I miss my mom. I am worried about my dad. I worry about my kids. I worry about my husband.  I don’t write enough. I can’t do all the marketing for my books because I am the worst. I have a sagging belly. I have to make dinner and do dishes every single day and I don’t like doing it, especially the dishes part. My laundry room is now the entire family’s walk in closet. I have weeds all over the place. I am scared of summer. And I’m tried.

But.

I am happy.

I think writing is such a celebration of life. Every part of it. I also think too often I get too caught up in the details to see the upward movement, the beautiful chaos that is surrounding me.

I hope I stop more.
I hope I write it down more.

I hope I laugh more. Both  at home and on the page.

I hope I’m kinder.

I hope I’m more compassionate.

I hope people don’t judge my bedroom and the peeling paint in the boys room.

I hope I don’t judge people’s bedrooms and the peeling paint in their kids rooms.

I hope I can stop all the bad things I do even though I know I won’t but I hope I keep trying.

I hope I go swimming this year, as impossible as it feels with all these kids.

and I hope I love more.

Those are my summer hopes.

 

Next week, the totally awesome radical summer challenge! You won’t want to miss it.

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3 Comments

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3 responses to “Memorial Day

  1. CLW

    Yahoo! A challenge! I can’t wait!

  2. benschwensch

    Why do your wonderfully written, funny, adorable, hilarious, thought provoking, mixed up, some-of-everything, thoughtful, random, worthwhile blogs always make me tear up? (As soon as I’m through laughing and have time to think.)

    Thank you, Andee !

  3. Karen Pierotti

    Andee, I’ve felt all of the above. Enjoy it as llfe goes, even the peeling paint. It’s only just recently that I had a remodel done on my house and my kids have been gone for over 15 years, but work (often overwork) took a toll and growing older and not having the energy to keep things up. Yesterday a crew of hispanics came over to clean out the grass and weeds that had grown rank and embedded. It was expensive but I think it was worth it. But that’s what life is like for me right now. But it’s also lonely at times; thank goodness for two wimpy dogs and a cat! I’m glad you are living not too far away from your father. I think the first year of bereavement is the worst; I felt in a daze most of the time, but it does get better . . . eventually. I remember the first day I felt really happy several months after my husband passed away. I stopped in the middle of my laugh and suddenly felt guilty. I shouldn’t be happy. But then, another thought came hard on the first: life is sun and shadow and I needed to enjoy and appreciate those times of light and beauty and they seem more precious because of the dark times. (Sorry this is so long.)
    Love, Karen

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