emptying my engine

assuming they are fairly healthy, i think we assume people are going to be there day after day. i especially mean the people closest to us, those whom we see or talk to or think about often. the ones who reside in our hearts. and so i think we go about our lives with focus on at least some things that, in hindsight, may not be nearly important enough to warrant so much of our attention. those day to day trivialities can keep us from saying and doing the things that we might wish we had said and done if our people (or we) are not there one day. i know it makes sense to live that way rather than living a life of trepidation and of looking over our shoulders, waiting for bad news. it'd be too stressful, too exhausting, too consuming to live our lives the other way.

i've been two degrees of separation from several people whose lives have ended abruptly over the past year or so. i have been reminded of the sheer finality of death, and felt and witnessed the sense of longing we have for just one more day, a few more words, with a loved one who has departed. i've known the hopelessness of trying to comfort those in grief - a parent losing a child, a spouse losing their mate, siblings separated by an untimely departure, a child losing their parent - when no words come because there are no words. and through all of it, the stark reminder that any day it could be any of us.

i'm trying to face that truth with courage. i'm trying to use it as motivation to reset my internal tape recorder, to pick my head up and focus outward, and to take opportunities to make my interactions with others overwhelmingly positive even if just in some small way. of course when that dipshit is tailgating me, my efforts momentarily wane because i am, after all, human. and he is, after all, a dipshit.

maybe it's the fact that i've, at best, reached the half way point in

my journey here (and way more likely i've been on the downward slide for a while now) that brings all of this introspection and contemplation to the fore front. i seem to be spending a lot of time in this place and space lately. maybe this is what they mean by midlife crisis. it doesn't feel so much a crisis per se' but there's a lot weighing on my mind and in my heart these days - i want to make sure that what i leave behind is positive, i want to make sure i empty my engine of all of the good stuff - because i won't be needing it once my time comes, and i won't have the opportunity once the time comes for someone i love. i want to make sure that i've said and done as much as i can for others so that when we are inevitably separated, whoever remains has something to hold on to.

when i make my final exit, i believe that anything left in my heart goes with me. the good intention and energy of a loving touch, kind word, or generous gesture that goes undelivered is forever lost. by the same token, the pain or scar of an ugly thought or selfish expression goes with me as well. none of it will do me any good once i am gone - that energy, positive or negative, just dissipates. and i don't mind taking the negative stuff with me - good riddance to it - but if i share the good stuff while i am still here, that positive energy lives on for at least a little longer in the hearts or minds of anyone i may have touched.

i recently read someone's autobiographical obituary. i did not know this man, but know that he had a terminal disease and knew his time in this life was limited. so he wrote his own obit. it was beautiful and funny and touching and clearly must have been a tremendous gift to those he left behind - not only because it was an opportunity for them to hear his words once more, but also because i think that writing an obit would be a burden on someone who is already grieving - so why not help them out? after all, who knows your life better than you do? i actually thought of going one step further. imagine writing our own eulogies. it would be quite an exercise in introspection and contemplation - with a real, valuable, tangible outcome. a parting gift, of sorts - a final chance to leave something on the table for our loved ones. empty our hearts of all of the good stuff - give the positive energy a chance to live a little longer in the hearts of others. and let the negative stuff go with us. i'm intrigued.

what would we want our final words to be, what would we want to leave behind? this is an exercise i want to explore in 2013. of course, in the unlikely event that i get hit by an asteroid tomorrow, then this very post will have to suffice.

furry friends

sitting out here on the zen porch with scout at my feet. beautiful day, it probably hit 80 today. you know how some days are just perfect days weatherwise for wherever you happen to live? few places have all perfect days - and austin in the summer speaks loudly and clearly for its climactic shortcomings. but today was just a great austin day. thanks for that, mother nature.

so i am sitting out here and the usual NYE fireworks are going off every once in a while in the distance. and while scout is not one of those dogs that freaks out about fireworks (that was barley's job, r.i.p.), they do make her slightly uncomfortable and nervous.

we have this on going battle of the wills, scout and i. from my side of things, i am just not a dogs-on-the-furniture kind of person. to each their own, and i love a good dog snuggle, but we happen to have a couple of canines who feel the need for a new coat every DAY so they are ridiculously prolific shedders. that makes me draw the line and so i am a not a dogs-on-the-furniture kind of person. as for scout, other than the fact that she is really a cat dressed in a dog costume, she also has delusions about her royal status and feels entitled, heck compelled, to sneak up (and i do mean sneak, with crafty eyes, a sideways glance, and quick like a fox) on to the furniture every so often when my back is turned. i know she does this way more often than i have ever caught her, as is evidenced by the well defined, circular, hair-filled impression we find on the beds and couches now and again.

this game has gone on for so long - 10 years now - she sneaks up, and if i catch her i tell her to get down. i have never waivered, she has never argued. it's our routine. in fact it has become so familiar for both of us that when i catch her, we only need to exchange a brief (sideways) glance - no words or gestures required.

so back to the zen porch where i am sitting enjoying the gorgeous evening, and a slightly skittish scout (remember the fireworks) is at my feet, and she so wants to come up here on the couch and cuddle up with me. it's like she knows she isn't allowed but she's giving me the sideways glance anyway. i swear she is wondering if i would mind, if i would let her just this once, seeing as how there are fireworks and all. out of my peripheral vision, i can see that she's actually raising one paw and putting it on the couch, all the while giving me the sideways glance. but if i turn and make eye contact with her, the paw goes down and she looks away. it's pretty funny. "who? me? what?"

i can't believe i am even considering it.

happy new year everyone. i hope the new year brings you all these things in spades: the warmth of a perfect weather day (even if your perfect day is a chilly one), the warmth of a furry friend at your feet, and the warmth of knowing that you're experiencing a life well lived.

lessons and carols

This one’s been banging around inside my head for a few weeks. Time to get it out.

It’s Christmas 2011, our first Christmas in our new home. We were able to move in back in February, barely missing Christmas 2010 by >this much<. But Christmas 2010 was spent in the rental house, where we were a bit out of sorts and not really sure what to do with ourselves. Last year Aly came home for her Christmas break from Northeastern and was sorely disappointed because we all seemed to be missing a key ingredient – Christmas spirit. But this Christmas is different – we were ready for it, with eager anticipation, joyful hearts, and about 1000 LED Christmas lights.

Last night we followed our something old/something new Christmas Eve tradition. As of 2010, the new part of our tradition is visiting the local fire station to say thank you and to bring them a holiday card and some homemade goodies. There were about 5 firefighters there when we visited, one of whom had been on the second shift at our fire. He immediately recalled the address and the time as I was explaining who we were. From the bottom of our hearts, we thanked them again and wished them a very boring and quiet Christmas Eve.

Parts two and three of our Christmas Eve tradition were the old standbys: Christmas Eve service at Bethany – the once a year when I get to drag my family to church and no one is allowed to gripe about it (well, they are allowed to gripe - first amendment and all - but they still have to go). Bunch o’ Chreasters. I do love the familiar carols and the fellowship. The service was followed by our usual Christmas Eve dinner at Kobe steakhouse where we inevitably run into people we know and enjoy the handiwork of the sushi chefs (and wine stewards) there. Last night was no exception.

This morning came with a chill and some rain, but it was nice waking up in the new house. Jack and I both commented that we had awakened around 4am but were able to fall back to sleep fairly easily. Not a creature was stirring – and silence never sounded so good. Late morning Jack and I went for our four mile walk/jog around town lake while the kids still slept - and then we came home to a few presents and a blissfully lazy day. Cozy and comfortable, in a beautiful new house.

There’s really not a day that goes by that I’m not cognizant of what it has taken to get us here – and of how many people chipped in to make it possible. I don’t think I will ever get used to it – at least I hope I don’t. To be humbled in this way is really the ultimate gift – and I know I am changed forever. It continues to be just shy of too much to bear, which is a good place to be. And though I am getting used to feeling this way, there is still something new to see and feel at every turn. There are still lessons to be learned.

For two years now we have lived with the desire and determination to repay the tidal wave of kindness and generosity that washed over our family. We daydream about winning the lottery and repaying everyone who sent a dime our way, we look for opportunities to make a difference in the lives of the myriad of people who came to our aid. We look for chances to give back.

But we recently faced the realization that an opportunity to truly repay someone would likely come at a high cost. It's been something of an epiphany for me. I have been so focused on trying to find ways to pay back that I just hadn't realized what those opportunities would really mean for the people I was paying back.

One of the families who came to our rescue – Jim and Sharon and their three girls (friends we used to work with who we really only saw once or twice a year after we no longer worked together) – suffered a tragedy when Jim was unexpectedly and tragically lost in an accident just after Thanksgiving. Despite not seeing them all that often, we knew that we would help. Sharon and Jim showed us that this is the way – whether you see your friends once a day or once in a blue moon, you find a way to help. They had shown up with generous gift cards to both Target and Home Depot that had been donated through their church after they shared our story. Both gift cards were incredibly helpful in putting the finishing touches on the new house, and once again we were humbled by the kindness of strangers and what friends were willing to do for us. Of course we gladly will do whatever we can to now help Sharon and the girls. But in my heart I wish more than anything that this opportunity didn’t exist. I understand now that the opportunity to pay someone back means that they will have to suffer a loss, and for Sharon and their girls – and all of Jim’s family and friends - this loss is heartbreaking. Reminders again that life is precious and fleeting and that everything can change in an instant.

And so it’s with this realization that I now move forward, fervently hoping and wishing that I never ever ever get the opportunity to pay any of you back. I really mean it. Of course if you ever need me, I will be right there to help in whatever way I can. But If I never get the chance to pay you back, I’m ok with that.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

the shoe fits

I love sitting out in my zen space. It has good joojoo. Immediately after the fire, before we could dare to dream, Kimberly (KK) had to lead us there by the hand and heart by asking the questions that would propel us forward: What would you have changed about the old house? How are we going to get more light in here? Why *can’t* cabinets be painted?

It was hard at first to even remember things about the old house that were anything but utterly and inarguably perfect. We missed it a lot (we still do). I think I’ve talked before about the longing for that space, almost more than the things that occupied it. It was our space, and once it was lost we instantly and conveniently forgot about its warts and blemishes. It had been perfect…hadn’t it? We were fortunate enough to be able to build on the same slab, which saved us a lot of money – and so I think we assumed that we’d build the same house on that same slab. We were unable to imagine anything else, but KK egged us on.

In the old house, all four bedrooms were down a single hallway. This was ideal for most of the time we’d lived there - the kids were small and we liked the comfort of being close. They are teenagers now – living in that crazy place between dependence and independence, child and adult, here and there. And I want no part of that.

I kid, I kid.

The truth is that they are absolutely funny, self sufficient, and unique mostly-adult people (coming from a completely biased mom) who we like hanging out with. But as they grew to adult-size, we found ourselves kind of on top of each other space-wise. So KK led us to the vision of a new master bedroom – clear on the other side of the house. Wait…what? But......there is/was a kitchen on that other side of the house after all! KK’s responses went something like: “So we’ll move it” and “Anything is possible when you start from scratch”. That’s when it clicked for me that the new house didn’t have to be a poor imitation of the old house. The new house could wear the same shoe size as the old house (same footprint) but maybe it’s a brand new shoe.

Once we had planned to move the master to where the kitchen was, we dared to go further. Where, then, would the kitchen go? KK suggested putting it at the back-center of the house, with big bold windows looking out into the backyard. “Anything is possible when you start from scratch.” Indeed.

I found strength in her imagination. I even asked about having a little patio teeny-tiny – just enough for two chairs – leading out from the master bedroom. That was how my “zen space” was born. I secretly suspect that Kurt embraced the idea of the zen space as a personal project because my little “teeny-tiny space” ended up being about 12x12, with a beautiful stone floor, and an amazing hand crafted wooden frame and ceiling. It’s entirely screened in, and has a doggy door too. All of which makes it pretty perfect.

Our zen space is slowly getting outfitted with everything a decent zen space needs, like a twirly marbly hanging thing from my friend Kim, a bamboo plant from Kenzie and Doug, comfy furniture, whisper quiet ceiling fan, and of course the little happy Buddha and the miniature zen garden that Emmett gave to me for mother’s day. It’s really such a nice space, and I am so grateful for it.


And I swear it takes its job seriously. It is peaceful out there, and always welcoming. I get to sit out in this space with a cool drink and a warm dog or two, sharing time with my hubby, talking about the good things our kids are off doing, figuring out how to do this empty nest thing - and there’s just a calm that settles in. It is a deeply joyful place.

So today was one of “those days” - my hard drive died, work was crazy hectic, and the local news was not good – another 1000 acres on fire in Bastrop – on top of what those poor people have already endured. These terrible fires make us cry and ache for the families who are losing their homes. We know all too well the treacherous and exhausting paths down which they are just beginning. We know that they have no way of knowing that it will easily be a two year recovery as it has been for us. We hadn’t known either – how could we have? We could not know, we would not know, until we walked in those shoes. I came home, poured a little wine, and went out to sit with Buddha and unwind. And as I sat there, I was reminded once again how incredibly, humbly fortunate we are. It is still overwhelming, how so many people did so much for us, gave and gave and gave so that we could recover and find ourselves in this beautiful space.

My fervent wish for the many Bastrop and Austin area families who are just beginning down a path we know all too well is that they have someone who dares them to dream, that they have a tidal wave of support and love that washes over them, and that in the end they find themselves with new shoes that are even more perfect than the ones these fires are taking from them.

i nailed it

It has been so long since I wrote anything here. So long. That's a sign, right? Because as we get farther from Christmas 2009, get settled in a new home, send Emmett off to Texas State, and Aly to Dublin for the fall semester, we get more entrenched in our new normal. We're busy - life goes on, as it should.

There are these moments every once in a while, and they get farther and farther apart. I had one tonight when I put the first nail in a wall. We have been here since February and we have never hung one thing on a wall (well, Aly and Emmett have made their rooms their own, but Jack and I have not started yet). It's hard to make that first nail hole.

Jacko's out of town for a week and the kids are both working so when I saw a box in the closet labeled "Framed pictures", I got motivated. And what was the first thing I hung up? You want to know, don't you? Well, the first *picture* I hung up is the autographed photo from Tedy Bruschi (see "full tilt, full time" from July 2010). Prior to that I actually had hung up one of those Greek charms that ward off the evil eye. It seemed appropriate to break the ice with that one - but Tedy's was the first of three pictures that I hung tonight.


Of course it takes me half an hour to decide where to hang each thing so it's exhausting. This makes me take frequent breaks. Which prolongs the process. But regardless. On one of my breaks, I walked out in the backyard to check on all of the lovely things we have planted (well, *Mike* has planted, but whatever :-) and was happy to see that the storm we got last night really livened things up out there (we've been in this exceptional drought for quite a while). And while I was checking things out I saw that little patches of purple queen wandering jew (go ahead, make a joke) that used to grow in the far back corner of the backyard pre-fire, were popping up all over. After being completely neglected for over a year, and in a drought, after being bulldozed and backhoed, darn if that little succulent son of a gun wasn't coming back. What resilience.

And *that* made me thing about resilience. I think resilience is something I can say, with a fair amount of confidence, that I have - and that feels good. BECAUSE whenever I read one of those stories in the news about a guy jumping on subway tracks to save a fellow human in distress, or similar acts of profound bravery, I can't help but wonder if I would have the chops to do something like that if I were in that situation. I have to admit I am not 100% sure I would, and for those brief few moments when I am reading or thinking about that story, I am plagued by the fact that I don't know. I find it reassuring to know absolutes about myself, one less thing to worry about - and I can't say with certainty that I am brave. Since it is a trait I greatly admire, I am wistful. Since I'm not 100% sure, I am hopeful. I may never know.

I just had to stop right now and ask myself where am I going with this, and of equal importance - when will I get there? I guess just that it's nice to know that I am resilient. I may have never known before but now that I have been bulldozed and backhoed, I know.

This is what goes on in my head. No wonder it takes me two hours to hang a picture.

a moment and a homecoming of sorts

we've been officially in the new house for a little over a month now. we finally moved out of the rental house in early february, 13 months after we had moved in with a 6 month lease. i'm sure it worked out well for the landlord since he got to raise the rent after the first 6 months - but at the time we didn't feel we could commit to anything farther away than 6 months, and even that seemed an eternity. in the end while we waited for the new house to become habitable, we kept bargaining for one more month, one more month - until he could offer us no more months because he had new tenants moving in.

move day was going to be tuesday. the weekend prior was really nice - the first 70 degree weekend we had since the fall. people were busting out the flip flops and wearing shorts. but there was something on the horizon, and that something hit on tuesday. a cold front brought the temps back down to freezing just two days after we'd been basking in the sunshine. there was no budging move day, so we bundled up and spent all day lugging our belongings across the street. our good friends again heard the call and came to help, and were so optimistic as to comment how moving with the freezing temps was better than moving in 100 degrees. crazy, wonderful, insane, shivering friends.

we continued paying our mortgage on the house that was no longer, and our great insurance company, Allstate, footed the tab for the rental. all those years of paying homeowner's insurance, one of life's necessary evils - or so we thought. but when we really needed them - they were more than on our side, better than a good neighbor, way less anoying that an aussie gecko...(and you know how i feel about gilbert gottfried so don't get me started on the duck).

anyway, we got everything moved on tuesday and overnight the snow came. it was impressive, by austin standards - emmett even got a snow day. the one little snag is that the main water line into the new house had been left uncovered pending final plumbing inspection which was needed to get the certificate of occupancy. that was monday, and the pipe was much less enthusiastic about the freeze than emmett and his buddies were. and so we ended up the first three days in the new house with no water. no burst pipes, but no flowing water either. so the yin to that yang was that the freeze delayed the new tenants and we still had keys - so it was kind of like camping where you'd bundle up and leave the comfort of your campfire to dart over to use the bathrooms and showers. three days later, through some combination of sheer vulcan willpower backed by a tented heating contraption, worthy of rube goldberg, aimed at the uncompromising pipe, kurt beat the freeze and the water flowed.

little by little we're settling in now. the house is about 95% done so each week we get a little closer. spring has sprung and as i write this i am sitting out on my as-yet-to-be-screened screen porch in shorts and a tank top. birds are chirping, the redbuds and salvia are blooming, and you can just smell spring everywhere. i love it because you can't help but think about growth and rebirth during this time of year. spring will largely be about the landscaping, which has taken a beating during the reconstruction. i'm really looking forward to making permanent homes for the few plants i saved who will comprise our "garden of what was".

i entertained for the first time last week. jack was out of town so i invited over a bunch of lady friends for a girls night in. about 15-20 came, and it felt good to be doing something for *them* for a change. the night before i decided to bake some cookies and needed saran wrap. we didn't have any so i called mo who said she'd meet me at the fence to lend me hers.

"meet me at the fence". how many times have we done that in the 10+ years we've been neighbors? lending this or that, tasting this or that, just chatting. probably a thousand times. when we re-did the fence we put privacy everywhere except on mo and ronnie's side. there we all agreed that a wrought iron, open fence was preferable - because we all liked the idea of meeting at the fence. mo commented when we met for the saran wrap exchange. she said "just like old times". and we agreed that it was a special, poignant moment. one step closer towards normalcy. we had gotten back one of the things we always loved, and we felt it on a big scale. so simple, passing a roll of saran wrap over the fence, but so special.


today the big truck rolled up from san antonio. we had called the

storage/restoration people who had emptied the house in the days following christmas and told them "we're ready". they had stored things for us all this time and honestly, we couldn't even remember what they had. we knew it was stuff from the garage, since that did not burn. and we knew they had my grandparents' bedroom dressers which jack and i have had since we got married and, due to the extreme cost of restoring damaged furniture, were the only things we chose to have them restore. three young guys showed up, introduced themselves and said "ma'am, we have your things". after i smacked them for calling me ma'am, they got around to unloading. the garage is now absolutely full with these potential treasures. and god knows what the heck is in there, but it's in about 75 boxes. i see our bicycles, and jacko's golf clubs, assorted tools, and 75 boxes. we'll be busy for a while.

i have to admit that seeing the guys unload my grandparents' dressers was an emotional moment for me. they had packed them so carefully - and once unloaded i watched as they gently disrobed them from their protective blankets. the last time we saw these, they were absolutely caked in soot. and while not perfect, they now look pretty amazing. i had the guys put them right into our new bedroom. i thanked the guys, and told them they were part of our story now - the final chapter.

the dressers are literally the first familiar things in the new house, and i was there to welcome them home.

a journey in a single day

he looked at me like i was completely nuts.

"you want to do what?"

"mow the backyard."

"WHAT backyard?"

it's true that while the house is 95% completed and we are 100% moved in and maybe 60% unpacked, the yard is 99% a construction war zone. landscaping is planned for the spring, but we've got to take a breather on the spending and have a little financial recovery time.

still, after the couple of weeks of freezing temps, today was absolutely stunning. sunny and warm, bright blue sky - the kind of day that lures you to do yard work, and you don't even mind. but there's a lot of trash out there, and remnants of the different stages the house has been through, and one of the things we *did* manage to save from "before" was our lawnmower. jacko didn't want me to kill it the first time i mowed at the new house (not to mention that there isn't actually much grass back there at this point).

so instead i went on my own little reconnaissance mission. the dogs have been hanging out in the backyard (when it hasn't been freezing) and fenway still has a lot of puppy tendencies (all 80 pounds of her) which leads her to think that chewing on rebar scraps is a good idea and that styrofoam is meant to be ingested. so i went out there to see if i could clean things up a bit (and with secret hope that i would do such a stellar job that jack would agree it was mowing time).

the stuff littering the backyard lead me back through our journey of the past 14 months, though not sequentially this time. i found scraps of things that had been on the deck during the fire, shattered and sooty, next to bits of roofing shingles. lots of broken glass was aside rebar and PVC tidbits. i found the fluorescent "warm zone" tape that the firefighters had wrapped around the exterior perimeter of the backyard tangled up with the temporary electrical pole that had been erected when we first brought power to the construction site. i found discards from literally every stage of our journey. it made me realize that i wish i had taken photos of all the many different crews who had worked on the house since, as i told them, they were part of our story now (usually in my broken spanglish). i wish i had been organized from the start and had written down every single donation and every single hug - who gave and said and did what. i wish i had kept a detailed record of the reconstruction - where everything came from, how much it cost, models and colors and styles. unfortunately, none of that happened. and i forgive myself. a lot of things are still strong in my memory but not always the things you'd think you'd remember. sort of like how you can remember things like the phone number you had as a kid (totally useless information at this point) but not necessarily where you just put down the car keys (very useful, and timely, information). memory is a funny thing that way.

the last thing i saw in the backyard before i called it a day was something that fenway actually brought to me. neither singed nor sooty, it was (most of) a tennis ball. clearly a tennis ball from "before" that had sat in the yard, neglected, and watched the whole story unfold for 14 months through beating sun and pouring rain, and yes, even snow. and now, since i was depriving fenway of perfectly good rebar to chew on, the tennis ball had found it's rightful purpose once again. it was very funky, filthy, and extremely weathered. just the way fenway likes them.

twas the night before the night before

there’s a chill in the air tonight and one of the neighbors must have had their fireplace going. walking over to the new house for one of our multiple daily visits (really, i highly recommend living right across the street from your construction site if you ever build a new home…while sucky initially, it has been wonderful to go over as much as we want, easy as crossing the street) i got a big whiff of smoke. i’ve learned to not freeze in my tracks anymore, but it was somewhat unsettling to be approaching the new house and smelling that smell. of course that momentary discomfort was erased as soon as we stepped inside. this is a beautiful house and we are overwhelmed every time we step inside. it exceeds our wildest dreams and we comment at least once a day that we can’t believe this is going to be our home someday. we can’t wait. it is filled with the amazing artwork of many fine craftspeople – beginning with kimberly who had the vision, on to kurt who makes it all happen, and even the subs – the guy installing the kitchen cabinets was moved to tears when he asked about our “story”. the humility is crushing.

we’re just a night shy of one year away from it all. tomorrow is christmas eve, and we are going to try and do our usual thing. we’ll go to the 5pm service at bethany, followed by dinner at the local japanese steak house – just as we have done every christmas eve for as long as any of us can remember. just as we did last christmas eve. and afterwards we will come home, put on some christmas music, jack will have his courvoisier and we’ll each get to open one present, just like always.

the new house is not quite ready yet but we are really really close. it been super busy over there the past two weeks with tile guys and flooring guys and cabinet guys and trim guys coming and going. we have heat, and electricity, but no active plumbing and no kitchen appliances probably until next week. despite that, we contemplated hauling sleeping bags over there and spending tomorrow night in our new home.

until we remembered that we no longer have sleeping bags.

but that will not deter us. we have blankets and pillows and so we might just do it. it would be fun, camping out in the new pad. i have wondered what our thoughts will be as we drift off to sleep. i keep coming back to that prayer (i know, so unlike me) that goes “and if i die before i wake…” not that i think anything could or would happen, but the words cross my mind.

i would never want people to think oh poor veek, her last couple of years were so rough. i hope that people would know that i’ve had a life filled with love and laughter. that i have loved and been loved more than most people dream of. that i have been blessed by the love of a great man and have delighted in taking the journey with him. that i have been fortunate to know both the love of a beautiful daughter and the love of a good son and that i have known intuitively how to love them unconditionally because of how i was loved as a child by my own parents. that i have had a strong and close relationship with my brother and lucked into a great relationship with my sister-in-law, and their amazing kids. that i have had the kind of extended family that is a force to be reckoned with - always just a phone call away, no matter if it's been months since you've seen one another or live 1500 miles away. that i have actually had a smooth and comfortable relationship with all of my in-laws, and that while i never had my own sister by blood, i have bonds with a few women that allow me the luxury of imagining what that is like. that i have been privileged to call a great number of people “friend”. that i have been fortunate enough to have seen a fair amount of the world, and have never had to go to bed cold or hungry. that i have had a good run of it. that I’ve had more than my share. and that despite losing everything, i know that i am richer than most.

that is what i would want people to know.

the list

the weather's turned cold for the first time this fall. we enjoyed shorts and t-shirts for a good long time, and now the sweatpants are out when i go on my morning walks with the pups. i even wore gloves the other morning. not that i am complaining, because i know we are still way warmer than many other places, and some people would probably think my definition of cold is somewhat warped. twenty two years in texas will do that to ya. fortunately, texas has failed to warp too much else in my mind.

thanksgiving has come and gone. and even before it went, the stores were bombarding us with christmas carols, decorations, holidays sales. the sun had barely set on thanksgiving day before the neighbors had put up their lights. all year i have been wondering how this time would be for me, how i would react and feel. it turns out that the carols and the christmas decorations make me feel nostalgic. i turn fondly to the thoughts of past christmases, when there was a little friendly competition between jack and ronnie regarding yard decor. the other neighbors always got a kick out of seeing what new addition (preferably inflatable, and huge, and blinky) would be added in our yards. i think of how i would start planning the christmas party practically in october - well, not so much the planning but the construction of my annual invitation, a slant on some familiar secular christmas song. on my long morning walks with the dogs, i would work out the lyrics in my head - weird al style. then picking out the invitation paper, finding the right font, and throwing some confetti in the envelope - just enough to be festive, and hopefully not too obnoxious. i'd also hunt high and low for just the right ornaments for aly and emmett. finding something to represent who they were that year, what they were into, or a reference to some familiar inside joke. i just knew when i had found the right ones, and i was always so tickled. all of these thoughts are bittersweet now, since all of it went poof, but i still like taking that stroll.

what actually surprised me was not my reaction to the onslaught of christmas decor and music, but my reaction to the change in weather. the first time i felt that cold air on my face, the really cold air - so cold that it almost has its own flavor - i immediately recalled christmas morning. it was so cold that morning. we had had some ridiculous winds christmas eve, and it was so so cold standing out in the front yard. funny how 11 months later and it is still *right there*.

11 months! the house is getting so close, we can see the light at the end of our tunnel. it's a beautiful light and we're approaching it with eager anticipation. i still hold out hope that we'll have a move in date by christmas - partly because as much as this rental house has provided our shelter, i've just never felt like it was home and partly because of the emotional milestone of getting through this in exactly one year, being able to turn the page, exhale, and get on with life. but the reality is that christmas may come and go with us not quite making it - inspections and scheduling and waiting on supplies - these things may hold us up. and i am really ok with that, because the end of the tunnel is so so near. i know that sometime soon, we will be sleeping in the new house for the first time. it doesn't really matter if that is christmas eve, or new years eve, or valentine's day. regardless, it is a day that is imminent.

i've been saying for some time that i wanted to have our annual christmas party again this year, in the new house. i think it was part of my healing process - to pick a date at which everything would be back to "normal". months ago we approached our favorite band and good friends, the psychic cowboys, about a date and they've stashed it away for us. and now here we are less than 3 weeks away - and while the light at the tunnel's end is visible, it seems hard to imagine that we'll be ready. there is still a lot of work to be done. and i have come to realize that the date of the event pales in importance when compared to the significance of the event and the real reason for this year's gathering. this is about bringing everyone together - all of the many many people who have reached out to us, friends and family, acquaintances, and even some strangers - who all picked us up, held us together, and lead us through the fog. it doesn't matter when, it matters who - and why.

we've always been blessed with a large circle of friends so the christmas party has always had quite a crowd. and now, in addition to all of the usual suspects, we have so many more acquaintances who have become dear friends as well as old friends who have become renewed. i have been working on this year's invitation list and have been asking friends to help me remember everyone who should be included. it would almost be easier to just take out an ad in the paper, just to be sure that no one is overlooked. so many people.

i asked tracey and theresa to help me reconstruct who all was at the browns house on christmas night - who had taken the time, and given up their own holidays plans, to rally around us. i asked lynne to help me draw up the list of the parade of friends who brought us meals in the weeks following the fire. and i have asked baze to give me the list of people from across the world and across the pages of our lives who so generously donated to the fire fund that he set up from 2000 miles away on that cold day. the cards, and letters, the clothing, the furniture, the hugs...reviewing this list can't be done with dry eyes. we have said it once and a million times that we don't know what we ever did to deserve such love and support, and you can be sure we'll be repaying it every day for the rest of our lives.

we have never been alone in this journey. not for one moment. not since 4:15am on christmas morning.

this is going to be one huge guest list.

when all around you seems dire, squeeze your wubba

aly came home recently to surprise jack for his birthday. and in order to honor the occasion, emmett and i took her car to the special car wash and cleaned it up inside and out. we were also expecting jack's brother and sister-in-law, rick and kathy - so we were in "make ourselves presentable" mode. after cleaning the car, next on my list was to take dogs for a little bath and (for scout) a haircut. as i was driving aly's clean car to the groomer with the dogs in the back, slobbering all over the windows, it occurred to me that perhaps i should have put a little more thought into the sequencing of these events.

but, as most everyone knows, we have always been dog people. and dog people aren't always in their right minds. take for example "the ideal". that was the model name of the 8'x24' trailer that served as our first home on the rim of grand canyon back in 1986. it had a 5 gallon hot water tank which meant if you dropped the soap, your shower was over. we were two sardines in a can with barely enough space to turn around. so what did we do? yes, of course - we got a puppy. that was tai, who was shortly thereafter joined by kirby. and once kirby left us, there was barley. and after tai, came scout.

as you probably know, we spent 2009 with jack being un- or under-employed after being unexpectedly cut loose from his last employer. we had been quietly preparing for my eventual layoff which we expected to come sometime in early 2010 and we got blindsided by jacko's sudden freedom. it was a big blow to us financially, and also emotionally. and the job market was pretty grim, so 2009 seemed to drag on forever. we've always been a 2 dog family, and it had been 2 years since we'd laid barley to rest - but at that particular point in time it would have been totally irresponsible, totally impractical..heck, practically insane..for us to take on the additional strain and responsibility that you sign up for when you adopt a tiny, needy puppy.

so of course that's exactly what we did.

there we were, the kids and i, driving out to the deliverance of manor, tx in response to an ad someone had posted on craigslist for "great pyrenees puppies". we had opened the ad and stared at the photo.

a row of 8 little pups, all of them black and brown. i checked the ad title again. "great pyrenees puppies" it had said. so i called, and i had said to the guy on the phone "i don't think they're pure great pyrenees, though, are they?". "oh yes" he assured me. i said "but aren't great pyrenees' solid white?". "no," he said "they come in all different colors". hmm. maybe in deliverance, tx they do - but not in the real world.

anyway, despite their dubious heritage, there was this one. we just couldn't stop looking at her picture and so, off we went as 3 and not surprisingly, home we came as 4 (jacko and scout had opted to stay home). i mean, who goes just "to look" at puppies? no, we were pretty much doomed to suffer the effects of the cuteness overload the second we set out. we instantly fell victims to her powerful spell - all 3.5 pounds of it. i remember holding her in my hand and turning to the kids. their eyes big as saucers, both of them just nodding "yes, YES".

we were in love with her from first glance. well, all of us except for scout who didn't realize that fenway was a dog for about the first month. it took that long for fenway to figure out how to bark and when she let out that first little yip, you could almost see the lightbulb go on in scout's mind. "oh, that's a DOG".

it's amazing how great a totally irresponsible, impractical, spontaneous decision can sometimes turn out. fenway has turned out to be an awesome dog, pretty well behaved with a personality that fills a room.

she had already brought us so much joy and so much laughter and levity in the midst of our troubled times during 2009.

and then the fire came.

scout was with us the whole time that dark morning. but fenway was sleeping in her kennel in the office and was almost an afterthought in the surreal moments during which we slowly realized we were losing our home. "get outside", jacko had said, "i'll get fenway". and he went back into the house - which you are never never EVER supposed to do. ever. and minutes after he and fenway joined us on the front lawn, there were flames shooting out the front door they had just walked through.

they both emerged, and despite some smoke inhalation we all know that the story has a happy, a miraculously happy, ending. and we are so thankful.

jack has told fenway more than once "you better be the best dog ever". and she has been (mostly) a good girl, full of (now) 75 pounds of shenanigans and good nature. she has been a welcome distraction, a loveable nuisance, a tremendous comfort, for all of us during this past year. she somehow represents, for me anyway, the lightness and joy that can prevail under dire circumstance.

christmas morning so many people showed up with so many things for all of us. and two stand out in particular. our friend keri (who didn't yet know us all that well yet obviously knew this one thing about us) brought a big tiger kong wubba for fenway - still to this day fenway's favorite toy (so much so that it has on occasion gone "missing" on top of the fridge, out of sight, we need a break) - and our friends tim and cyn, who brought the world's largest box of dog biscuits (so big that we *just* finished it a week or so ago).

so many times over the past year and a half when i have felt overwhelmed and paralyzed by confusion, or sadness, or self pity, everything is thrust back into perspective as soon as i feel the nuzzle of a cold nose, meet the hopeful gaze of those (literal) puppy dog eyes, and have my ear drums split by the incessant squeaking of the tiger kong wubba.

love us, love our dogs. so very much to be thankful for.

reaching "oh well"

if someone had told me 10 months ago that i would walk through walls, i could not possibly have understood.

as the new house on that old, solid foundation has risen that is exactly what i have done. many times. at first i was just walking around the foundation, remembering what had been there, and looking backwards. then the framing went up, and with it the possibilities and the promise of things to come.

these days i walk from room to room, literally through the walls, noticing this and that - trying to envision how it will look, how it will feel, how it will come to be. i often say to jacko "i can't imagine that this is going to be our home someday". and that's true. it is so much more than we could have ever dreamed. people have done so much more for us than we could have ever dreamed.

but really, it's already our home - though it's in its infancy. it's a part of us already.

the fact that the foundation is the same is obvious, even to the casual observer. it's the same house, but different. it's familiar, yet new. you know when people describe someone as an "old soul"? i kind of feel that way about the house. there are deep roots under the bright and shiny new structure that is rising.

today i took the day off from work. i decided to start going through some of the bags, bins, and piles in the garage. yes, we actually still have quite a mass of sooty things in our garage and shed. mountains of our things were thrown away at demo time, but i was too attached to my things to let go of all of them back then. "surely, this could be salvaged. somehow. someway." and "how can we possibly get rid of that?" - so to appease me, jack helped fill bags and bins with stinky, sooty, soiled items. i guess it's a good sign that i actually had forgotten about a lot of my "must save" things since i hadn't seen them for a while (a clue that i can, despite my conviction 10 months ago, live without them).

so i was reunited with some of my things as i pulled them out one by one and inspected them. and while overall i felt pretty sad, i found that i reach "oh well" much faster now than i did back then. it's become much much easier to say goodbye to things that before i didn't think i could live without. sentimental things, one-of-a-kind things, precious things. but we're stronger. time has been on our side in that regard. we walk through all kinds of walls now.

the club no one wants to join

our friends allie and kevin are expecting their (first) little baby girl sometime next month. and so i recently mentioned to allie how poignant i found it that they are about to welcome their little girl into the world just as we are letting ours go. it seems so cliche to say that it seems like only yesterday, but of course that is exactly how it seems. and so off to boston we went last week to get our aly moved in to her dorm.

there was a flurry of activity in the week leading up to move-in day. i felt anxious, but hadn't yet cried (about *that*, anyway). even jacko had shed tears, holding his baby girl tight the night before she and i headed north. aly was comforting him and he was softly telling her "i'm just going to miss you so much". it was heartwarming and beautiful and the kind of fatherly love that every child should know. and the bittersweet feelings - overwhelming pride, a touch of sadness, joy and a bit of emptiness - that every parent should know.

emmett and jack would come to join us in boston the following weekend, but first aly and i did a tour of new england with stops in NY, CT, RI, and finally MA. we visited family and friends along the way and had some good mom/daughter time roadtripping between. as move-in day got closer, more than once aly mentioned her surprise that i had not broken down yet. i'd respond, with all the sincerity and love that any good mother could muster, by saying "but there's still a whole week for you to drive me crazy!" (likewise, i am sure).

but inside i, too, was surprised. i mean, it's not just that aly was moving away and would be greatly missed, but our relationship was about to be redefined and we were about to pass from one major life phase (child-rearing) to another (parents-of-adult-children) - there is no turning back - in many ways, our job is done. or at least it is changing. in the aftermath of the fire, all of these musings and introspection have intensified for me.

so i admit i was a little edgy the day or two before move-in, but still - no tears. and since i have very little control over when and where the deluge comes, i started to wonder when it might hit. ah, gee, i hope it wouldn't come when we were moving her in. *that* would be embarassing. but that time came and went with smiles and laughter and only a few snips. that night and the next jack, emmett, and i stayed in a hotel in boston - so maybe the tears would come when we actually said our goodbyes to aly before flying home. but we pulled that off too, with big hugs and kisses and smiles. i figured then that the logical point would be when we boarded the plane for the flight home. nope. how about when we walked into the empty house back in austin? wrong again. so i finally gave up and accepted that it would come whenever it needed to.

it's been a week now and while i miss her like crazy, and the house seems artificially, unnaturally quiet, i had not cried.

on saturday, i got a call from anna, my HR director. she said she hated to bother me on a weekend but had i seen the news about the gas explosion in san bruno, california? yes, i was peripherally aware. it turns out that a fellow employee, who i do not know, lived two houses from the one that exploded. his burnt to the ground - and knowing that we are all too familiar with what that feels like she wanted to know what could they do, what should they do, to help. i immediately jumped back to christmas day. the basics, i told her: do they have shelter? do they have clothes? do they have access to money? i also advised that as his employer, they could do him a great service by simply saying "don't worry about work, we've got your back". free him from worrying about his job, on top of everything else. have IT set his voicemail and out-of-office mail for him, ask him if he has anything urgent that is pending, and just remove it from his plate. that would be such a relief.

it was pretty easy to envision what the next 9 months will be like for this colleague and his family, because we have been living it.

it's complicated, she said. this other employee - he has a name, james - thankfully, james and his older daughter were not home at the time of the explosion. but james' wife and younger child were now missing, and presumed not to have survived.

oh my god oh my god oh my god. all of a sudden this is entirely different than the tragedy that we faced back on christmas day. a completely different scale, and my worst fear (and subject of my PTSD anxiety) realized. i suddenly feel completely ill-prepared and unqualified to presume to know what james and his daughter need. everything we have been through, the complete upside-downing of our world, the total disconnect from the life we lived just hours before - seems miniscule compared to a sudden, shocking, tragic loss of life. and james going through everything we went through without the support of his spouse, and in shock from the devastating loss, and trying to still be a father/protector/provider for his other child. it will take herculean strength.

the tears came then - as a parent, as a spouse, as a human - for the loss, for the pain, for the loneliness. for the bad things that happen over which we have no control. the unfair things. the random things. i had to apologize to anna and take a moment to try and compose myself. it was futile. now she was apologizing, feeling as though she has brought this all back to the forefront for me. i assured her that it's never really in the background.

and really, where i end up is here: we are so lucky. we are so blessed. we are so fortunate. we lost only our *things*. we have everything right here (or, at least, 1500 miles away). this thought is pervasive in my mind: but for a moment, there might have been no reason to make that recent trip to boston. also: jack went back into the house to get our pup, something you're never ever supposed to do. what if what if what if.

i'm not religious, but i have been praying for james' family. mostly, for a miracle. a big one. but beyond that, for strength. for the tidal wave of compassion and generosity that has overwhelmed us. and for a sliver of normalcy to come back to them as they navigate these trecherous and unwelcome seas.

every. day. is. a. gift.

the gift that keeps giving

tonight we took the kids to austin land and cattle to celebrate our 23rd anniversary. yes, we brought the kids with us - we're well aware of how few opportunities we may have left to (force them to) share in family time - so we take advantage of every one of them.

as is fairly common these days, talk drifted towards the new house - where things currently stand status-wise, where they are headed, next decisions to be made, personal preferences for this and that, etc. considering we started very early on with emmett's request for a circular bed, sunken of course (so as to achieve the full love-nasium vibe), and a metal commode (not unlike those you'd see in a prison), we feel that these family chats are invaluable in setting appropriate expectations and building family consensus.

we spent some time over dinner narrowing down choices for things like color and tile and cabinet finish selections. within reason, we're giving the kids the opportunity to provide as much input as possible and we're trying to take everyone's opinions into consideration. we all lost out home 8 months ago, and our new home is rising. it is a family affair, and we're all fully vested. it bonds us in a deep and profound way.

when those suggestions arise that are out of the realm of possibility (either because they're simply cost prohibitive, or just plain ugly) we resurrect the lottery fantasy. well, of course that particular idea might be possible *if* we won the lottery. not sure how winning the lottery would enable us to close our eyes to some of the more distasteful suggestions that have been made, but apparently in our imaginary world when you're rolling in the green a lot of stuff slips under the radar of good taste. regardless of the feasibility of it all, the lottery scenario has kept a lot of family discussions from veering way off track.

i don't remember what the specific suggestion was tonight that led us to the lottery game but before long there we were. and something really lovely was unfolding. instead of the immediate thoughts of the usual me-me-me variety, the kids were contributing some great ideas for how our lottery winnings would enable us to help others. first, a million dollars to miracle league. no one second-guessed that. next, what if we could provide our friend logan with unlimited funds to cover his medical expenses for the rest of his life? logan is 10, and he is emmett's buddy from miracle league for the past 5 years. following a stroke and a heart transplant before he was 1, logan has had more than his share of hardship in his 10 little years - and yet he smiles more than any child you know. talk about a hero. and logan's family has not had it easy, but they were some of the first to respond to our situation - with supplies and gifts and a shoulder to lean on - and logan's dad lance has since provided us with the amazing gift of his outstanding talent as a plumber, taking care of all of that for our new home.

next, we wanted to pay our builder and designer what we should be paying them for the tremendous gift they are giving us (yes, they collect a fee for their services, but we know better than to think it adequately compensates them for their efforts and investments). and one step further - emmett offered "what if we figured out everyone who has given us something, anything, since the fire, and paid them back?". or better, what if we could give them 100% return on their generosity?

aly said "but would they want that?"

we talked a bit more. we agreed that some would not want that. but it was still such a lovely exercise in giving. imagining the ability to give without limits. doing for others. letting go. realizing that less is so, so very much more. understanding the gifts we have been given and how we could spend the rest of our lives and all of our resources (real and imaginary) trying to repay all of the kindness that has come our way, and still falling short. and yet how beautiful and fulfilling it is just to try.

what a great anniversary gift. so great to see the kids wanting to give, so selflessly, with no consideration for their own desires.

of course we all came back down to earth from our righteous highs quickly when jack told the kids that, additionally, each of them would be able to choose a car of their liking.

emmett's response: "just one?".

love and laughter

"just remember, i'm only a phone call away" the magnet said. it has a vintage photo of a little girl holding a rotary phone up to her ear.

she's always been just a phone call away, my entire life. i am not fortunate to know what it is like to have a sister. my cousin donna is as close as i have gotten. we're four months apart in age. it's not really important who arrived first, though since you're wondering i will tell you - it was her. i am the much younger cousin.

we have always been close and hers is the unconditional kind of love that people dream of experiencing. she is so supportive, she is always building me up, always making me feel like so much more than i am. she forgives me all my shortcomings, she knows all my secrets, and we share lifelong inside jokes that reduce us to giggling 7 year olds whenever we revisit them. she was part of my wedding, and i was part of hers. when she showed up the morning of the wedding and asked "so what are you doing with your hair?". ummm... so she quick sat me down and whipped up a hairdo worthy of a bride, and added some makeup too. it was a cinderella moment. no chauffeur? no problem - she volunteered her husband to drive me the 1/4 mile to the church. and he even got out and walked around to open the door for me! it's all captured on our wedding video - which is, like so many other things, toast.

she has come to visit me anywhere i've ever moved - new hampshire, arizona, massachusetts, texas. and when we go to new england, she never asks why i'm not coming to see her or stay with her. instead she says "do you have time? can i come to you?". we have started a tradition of getting together with our girls, aly and amy, once a year, and that is some very special time for all of us.




inevitably, silliness abounds.
and so of course she was one of the first people i talked to on christmas morning. and amidst the tears, she found some way to make me smile. as usual.

the first box came, filled with clothes and gift cards for the kids (seventeen years ago donna had my godson matt exactly one month to the day before i had emmett - and my brother's son eli came just a month later - which marked our family's "summer of boys"). and then a second box came with the little "phone call away" magnet, and a copy of the photo memory book she had given us after our two families vacationed together on fire island a few years ago (the original of which had been lost to the fire), and this amazing scrapbook she had made for me filled with pictures from literally our entire lives (some of those hairdos. oh my. i'll spare you. or me.) and her comical commentary throughout...well, it lifted me up. it kept me connected.

and that was not all.

one day we received in the mail a letter from the firefighter's association of NY. in it was a nice note, and a check. donna had taken the time to find this organization, had written to them and explained our situation, and they had decided to send us a donation. from total strangers in new york. as if she had not done enough already.




so happy birthday, dear (much, much, older) cuz. and thank you for never letting me forget that you're always just a phone call away.

transformations

my recent fb update was "every day our house is transformed a little bit. and so am i".

it's been true. i'm not who i was. i surprise myself. and some days i kind of like it.

each day when i get home from work i walk over to the new house, the one that is rising. we're definitely so thankful now that we were able to rent a house right diagonal from our old home. on our little cul de sac, with the familiar neighbors and surroundings. at first it was hard being so close. i felt so sad when i would look at it, all dark and dying. all scorched and littered with remnants of what was. the demo was a tremendous step forward. sad, but necessary. gut wrenching, yet cleansing. i cried a lot back then.

i cry a lot now, but for different reasons.

so each day i spend about an hour just walking through the house, noticing what's new or changed since my last visit. the house is familiar, because we were fortunate enough to retain the slab - so the footprint is basically the same. and yet in my time wandering around over there i definitely feel like i am getting to know someone new. someone who, upon first meeting, you just know will end up playing a big part in your life.

some days the changes are big and impossible to miss - like the first day of framing, the day the roof went on, or the day the plumbing was all roughed in. other days the changes are more subtle - like when the tongue and groove soffits went in - subtle, but so special, one of kurt's special touches. and there have been days when i can tell something is different, though i can't put my finger on it. i'll search and search, but i just don't see it. so i'll ask jack "was anyone working at the house today?" and he'll say no. hmm. i think maybe those are the days when the soul of the house has grown some (can't you just hear jacko rolling his eyes?). all sorts of changes are there, each one bringing us one step closer to our home.

the changes i feel in me are similar. some seem big and all in my face - like my relationship with fire, obviously. i've always loved candles and campfires and fireplaces - i could sit and watch for hours, mesmerized by the power and the energy. now i just see the power and energy differently - there is some fear and some discomfort. and a whole lifetime of respect. other big changes are simple but powerful - expecting less, and giving more. some of the changes sneak up on me. like crying at those iPhone commercials. there i was minding my own business, watching "the office" and feeling fine and next thing i know, we go to a commercial break. deluge. and i thought it was bad years ago when i would tear up over the budweiser commercials with the clydesdale and the little boy in the wheelchair. but iPhone commercials? the line between laughing and crying has suddenly become very, very fine for me. sneaky.

there are superficial changes too. when we remodeled the kids' bathroom a few years ago, or the kitchen a few years before that, i knew exactly what i wanted (stop laughing, donna). stained cabinets, of course. granite countertops, without a doubt. travertine, and thick saltillo tile. and when we started this journey 7+ months ago, i would have assumed i'd be going down that same road. but of course that was the old me.

when kimberly suggested that we go with painted cabinets ("crisp and clean" she had said), i nodded politely but inside i am sure i was looking at her like she had two heads. and then she showed me some pictures and suddenly, much to my surprise, it was all i could imagine. suddenly granite and travertine seemed so heavy. too much. much more than i needed. i did a 180 in the blink of an eye.

so while some of the personal changes don't sound too appealing (like the spontaneous combustion, for example, or the fire aversion), i am somewhat tickled to be discovering this new me inside of me. like the house, my foundation is the same. but what is going up feels very, very different.

like magic

it was perfectly serene. just aly and i, sitting in the kiddie pool. she was sweetly, adorably, quietly pouring water from one cup to another in her little ruffly bottom bathing suit with the big diaper bum. she was 17 months old. we had it to ourselves, which was a good thing because it was summer in texas which meant an easy 100 degrees, and i felt like i was about 13 months pregnant while waiting for baby #2 any. day. now.

suddenly, the gate to the pool burst open with a bang and a stampede of noisy, dirty, loud, rowdy and rambunctious *boys* came running in, all hollering and shoving, and shooting their super soakers, and nearly sending little aly bum over teakettle.

i froze.

because it suddenly occurred to me that this thing growing inside of me could be...oh say it ain't so...one of them. i always knew there was only two ways to go with this baby thing. and i had become familiar - actually completely charmed - with the way things had gone the first time around. and i couldn't at that moment imagine things going any other way, even though i suppose i had known logically all along that "it" could be "him".

we were living in the dallas area - richardson, to be exact. i was working for the best company that ever existed (and those of you who were with me then know that i am right), we had bought our first house, i was deeply, madly in love with my husband, and we had this precious, gorgeous, smart, and absolutely perfect little angel. life was pretty perfect.

and now it dawned on me that there was a real potential that i was about to f it all up by giving birth to one of those wild and uncivilized little beasts.

i was beside myself. but where was i to turn? we were the first of our local friends to have kids, and my family was 1500 miles away. where could i turn? who would understand? who could guide me? i needed immediate relief from this haunting nightmare.

i turned to my invisible friends on the web. oh the web was new back then, and we didn't necessarily have all your fancy gizmos and gadgets...like GUIs (feh!)...but we had usenet. and usenet had newsgroups. and i had gotten attached to a certain newsgroup called misc.kids.

we were people all over the country, and all over the world - and we talked about anything and everything that had to do with young humans. not everyone was a procreator, and discussions were lively and thought provoking. and since we were so far from family, misc.kids became a welcome and welcoming respite as we navigated our way through as first time parents.

i went home from the pool that day and posted about my experience. GAH. boys! and more importantly, how was i ever going to be able to love this #2 whatever-it-was, as much as i already loved my perfect angel aly? and would aly be cheated because she'd have to share us with another child? really, new parents are pretty close to insane.

thankfully, one of my buddies on misc.kids had children a little older than mine. and he responded with words that stay with me to this day. about how love is really amazing because it is infinite. so it's not like you have one bucketful of love and have to dole it out. he had learned that he didn't have to carve out love for #2 from the love he had for #1. they each got all of his love. because love is magical that way, and 1 divided by 2 equals 2. and 1 divided by 4 equals 4. like magic.

those words were so comforting to me (though they did not specifically address the horrors of little boys). i saved his words all these years. his reply was still on my computer just 7 months ago, and now his words lie with the ashes - but are still strong in my heart and mind (although i will never remember them as eloquently as he had written them).

as our newsgroup evolved, some of us actually had face to face gatherings when time and geography would allow. we made annual photobooks, and we did remote christmas gift exchanges (i once made tie dye shirts for a family of 6 whom i had never met). we shared so much in writing that when we did meet, it often felt like we were seeing old friends. for the first time.

we shared triumphs and tragedies, births and deaths, first steps and first proms, life's ups and downs. these people, most of whom i never met, were a wonderful lifeline for me when i was in the middle of nowhere texas far from my family and childhood friends.

over time i kind of drifted. life got busy, and so i participated less. the kids grew up and as they needed us a little less, i guess i needed that intimate support a little less. i stayed in touch with one or two, but often thought of the others.

enter facebook. which for all it's shortcomings and pitfalls, does have the amazing ability to draw people back together from a lifetime ago. so the fire came and ate our house, and within hours word was out on fb. and somehow someone from my old usenet newsgroup stumbled upon me and learned of our story. and one friend told another who told another who told another, and the love came pouring in. from people i had not been in touch with in *years*.

one day jack asked me "who is kate d"?. what? what do you mean who is kate d? the past blasts to the present. "someone named kate d just made a donation to the paypal account for our fire recovery". oh my word. why? how? it had been so long since i'd even heard her name. and shortly after that, i received a box in the mail with an exquisite, hand knitted scarf in all of my favorite colors. from kate d.

this amazing, talented (she is also world class storyteller), generous, thoughtful woman who undoubtedly was busy with her own life and whom i had not so much as exchanged an email with in, literally, years - she took the time to reach out.

and, by the way, i have never met kate d.

now tell me again how unfortunate my situation is, because some days i seem to be missing that.

so to bring this back around to that day 17 years ago at the kiddie pool, as you all know i did in fact end up having one of those *boy* things. and you know what? he wasn't all loud and rambunctious and rowdy (well, at least not all the time). and my love *did* expand just like that guy said it would. and i am able to love emmett with all my heart while still loving aly with all my heart. magic! and my life has been enriched and expanded and challenged and blessed in ways i never could have expected, simply as a result of his arrival on the planet. so happy 17, emmett!

full tilt, full time

anyone who has spent more than 5 minutes with jacko knows about his love for his beloved new england patriots. and it would only take 5 minutes because, unless it was football season, he might first be talking about his beloved red sox, or his celtics, or his bruins. and so our family room, where the big screen tv was, had become a shrine of sorts. over the years many of us have purchased great photos and memorabilia for jacko. he had footballs from three of the pats four superbowl appearances, a red sox banner from after the 86 year drought, and many many framed photos, some autographed. our walls were adorned with photos of the 2002 snow bowl, and of bobby orr's great, classic 1970 stanley cup goal, of mchale, bird, and parrish together on the bench, and a particularly painful autographed photo of the ball going through buckner's legs in '86 (courtesy of baze, that bastard) - among many others.

baze had come over a few days before christmas with something for jack. since they don't officially exchange christmas gifts, baze called it a "housewarming gift" (perhaps a poor choice of term, in hindsight). it was an autographed, framed photo of tedy bruschi. years ago, when we had all gotten our pats jerseys, jack had chosen #54. what a perfect addition to jacko's collection.

when the big ball of flame came two days later, the family room was one of the rooms that was completely consumed. and along with everything else that was lost, was all of jack's memorabilia. if you're not a diehard sports fan, you may not be able to relate to that loss. but it represented a passion jack that had shared his whole life - with anyone who would listen. it provided endless fodder for conversations with his dad and mine, gave him something to pass on to the kids, something to share with his best buddies up in rhode island (that they had shared since childhood), and - on a personal note - a great source of inspiration for jack's gifts over the years. next to his photographic equipment and all of the many many beautiful photos he has taken, i think he'll miss that memorabilia most.

we hadn't yet hung up the new photo in the family room. it had been on the island in the kitchen where jack had unwrapped it. but unfortunately, the kitchen was another room that was completely engulfed. so the new photo had also been lost.

after the smoke had cleared, a few days post fire, baze was helping us sift through the debris as we somewhat futilely continued to look for anything that could be salvaged. the mood was momentarily lifted when baze uncovered this gem in the kitchen:

all that was left of baze's gift to jacko happened to be a fragment of the photo that prominently showed good old #54. of course tedy bruschi knows his own brand of adversity having suffered a stroke followed by heart surgery in early '05 when he was just 31. knowing that bruschi had fought his way back and had made a miraculous return to the field just 8 months later, we stood there amidst the ashes and commented on his spirit in the face of adversity and how tedy was a shining example for us. he was simply unstoppable.

baze, who with the exception of baseball season when he suffers from seasonal insanity, shares jack's new england sports passion. he has spent many many sundays at our house. he gets jack. and he gets how much all that stuff meant to him. so he got to work - but i don't think even baze had a clue about what he was capable of doing for his friend.

this is not just about how wonderful baze is, though that is certainly where this particular story starts. it's also about more people reaching out - people who we have never met.

baze is a member of an online community of patriots fans. over the years he has developed friendships with several of the other members, in particular the community manager - a guy named randy (aka "zip"). zip maintains the patriots fan web site, which has built a community that spans the US. zip is as diehard as they come. he is a veteran tailgater and even earned the official title "patriots fan of the year" in 2001. and zip knows *his* own brand of adversity, having lost his eye sight to a neurological disorder in 2000.

zip is blind, but like tedy he is also unstoppable as recent articles about him can attest (http://wbztv.com/local/blind.hiker.washington.2.1769438.html and http://www.ledgertranscript.com/article/focusing-on-his-abilities).

so baze knows zip (though they've never met) and they share a bond. and zip has, over the years as a #1 fan, gotten friendly with a certain full tilt, full time patriots linebacker (you guessed it, #54).

jack <-> baze <-> zip <-> tedy.

baze had obviously told zip of our situation because one day in february, a package arrived. we all stared at the return address. it was hand written. it said "bruschi".

this is what we found inside:

unstoppable indeed.

thank you, zip and tedy, for the kindness you have shown to people you have never even met and for the role models you continue to be. thank you baze for helping to bring a smile back to jacko's face (after the tears in his eyes). you all make *us* feel unstoppable. tedy's photo is already helping to make our temporary rental house feel like home and we could not imagine a more perfect first memento for our new family room.