So just when I thought I was going to let this space die a slow death upon discovering Instagram, I realized I just have too much blah-blah-blah to add to the average quick photo post.
It takes great restraint for someone like me to write just a line or two about a picture and then hit "share." That shot of the tomato sandwich I made at the beach?---I could've said--er, written--- a good three paragraphs about that alone.
About how it was suddenly August and I was desperate to savor the last tomatoes, and the last moments of the first Pellin-Edes-Moreland combined family vacation in eight years.
About how I was about to abandon the whole sandwich unless I found the salt and pepper I KNEW I'd packed, and then I found them, in the cooler. Of course.
About how earlier that day I couldn't locate my sister-in-law, who hadn't been feeling well, and was about to go up to her room to check on her. And then I looked out into the ocean and saw her laughing and bobbing around with the rest of my family and inexplicably teared up with joy.
This was always a journal for me, a way to capture little nuggets of life before they slip away. And since I'm now suddenly the mother of two middle schoolers who don't exactly chat me up at their own free will, I need a space in which to tell my stories. Maybe it's a southern thing, or a woman thing, or just a me thing.
The past 18 months have brought huge changes at my work that have turned my daily job duties into huge, hot ,stress bombs. I don't think poor hubs can decipher one more choked-out "conversation starter" from me that begins with "I just. . .I can't. . .I don't see how. . ." But don't get me wrong, I will not be writing about THAT here, either. THAT will just have to sort itself out; I will continue to work hard at what I can do and what I can't. ..well hopefully someone else can accomplish.
Writing has always been a good way to get out of my own head---to help me appreciate the good stuff and get over myself already. And also, I don't have the time for therapy and it ain't in the financial cards!
So, here we are at August 2014. Current state of the world: pretty awful. ISIS forces executed a young journalist, Robin Williams took his own life, and there are Russian tanks in the streets of Ukraine, where Mark and I visited 12 years ago and met our daughter for the first time. All this happened in one month.
On our particular little home front, though, it was back-to-school time after a summer of a writing program (both kids), mission camp (Liv), Camp Cherokee (Liv) and archery camp (Nate, courtesy of Camp Grandma).
Nate is now a 6th grader at Randolph Middle and Liv is a big bad 8th grader at Sedgefield (she is neither big nor bad, but the eighth graders rule the roost at middle school, you know).
This month I really missed my folks, which is normal for me during August, their birthday month. Today, for the first time in awhile, I felt the urge to call them.
I also got to see my sweet friend Dawn this month. I absolutely will not let nearly two years go by again before I give myself the joy of seeing her. How did that happen? Never again, I tell you. We met for lunch at a favorite Thai place and I didn't talk about work once. Maybe talking too much about work is why my friends move away? Hmmm. Anyway, we still keep in touch---she sends me texts letting me know things like the exact moment when Starbucks started serving pumpkin lattes again and what store carries our favorite yogurt. Who else would do that? It makes me smile. Oh, and true story: One time I started texting her "You know I'm a pumpkin wimp (meaning I only like one pump of the syrup in my coffee), and it auto-corrected to "You know I'm a pimp!" I fixed it before I hit send, but she would've liked that.
So, onward, until next time! Which won't be every day, by far, but will not be as long as 18 months, I promise.