Here we have it: The First Edition.
A recap of the week’s sounds, smells, sights, touches, and tastes from a girl who lost her father but not herself.
Let it be said that I had my first date with Photoshop this weekend. These images are my notably novice creations. What’s the phrase, Rome wasn’t built in an hour?
- Grateful. Under a grey sky, someone new took me somewhere new.
- Surprised. A beautiful stranger left this anonymous note, and a book titled “50 paintings you should know” for me. Whoever you are, Thank You.
Nicole, You inspire me everyday. I hope this brings you some more inspiration to fuel your mind and soul.
- Able bodied. Started my running regiment for my Israel half marathon. The lungs and buns are burning.
- Shocked. It’s been almost sixth months since I’ve seen/heard/spoken to the greatest man I’ve ever known.
- Progress. I finished the prelude this week – now to polish, and polish some more.
- Relaxed. Been going to acupuncture. I haven’t a clue if it’s working, but if it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.
- Gluten Free Chocolate Lavender Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting. I spent Friday night baking these bad boys. They tasted like a somersault, back rub, sun salutation, and bear hug all in one.
- Gin. Which is one letter away from grin. Which is what happens to me when I drink it.
- The skies in San Luis Obispo. They explode at sunset.
- The hills, the valleys, the stretches of road, the glittering tides, the rows of vines.
- More chances to grow.
when I close my eyes, my nose
detects your brightness.
- Stables. I visited a friend in Atascadero this weekend. Helped her feed the horses (!!) and enjoyed a night in with plates full of salmon, and ears full of John Coltrane.
- America. Beers, Bean dips and everything in between, Super Bowl XLVII wasn’t won by the Ravens, but by Pinterest. Thank you, pretty little push-pinned site for exposing so many finger licking good recipes to taste and taste and taste some more.
Hear: [this week’s repeat offenses]
- Beethoven’s Appassionata
- The Head and the Heart
- Kendrick Lamar
- Gregory Alan Isakov
- Blue Foundation
- Gustav Holst
- Trampled By Turtles
- Passion Pit
And there we have it, friends. An overview of a week in the life of a girl who plain and simply is not fatherless.
If you’re so inclined, a sneak peak behind the serious curtain:
February 3, 2013
It dawned on me yesterday as I was driving down the grade.
Foot off the gas, heat expanding my pores and drying out my hands. It’s February, I thought. I’m entering the sixth month without my father.
Alone in my car, plunging into the valley, my breaths became shallow and my shoulders caved. I realized I didn’t cry once in January, and I panicked.
Was I forgetting about him? Am I okay without him? I don’t want that; I can’t possibly be.
And as if cued in by an omnipotent conductor, tears fell, dropping in time to a song I had on repeat. Some shot down like pellets, some lazily serpentined down my cheeks. Some stung more than others. All blurred the construct of reality I had unintentionally crafted for myself during the previous month.
January was busy. Filled with progress and opportunity, newness and fondness, it arrested my time and attention in such a way that I hardly noticed the handcuffs. If not people, then things. If not things, then thoughts, if not thoughts then work, if not work then something. I was always surrounded.
But in my car, with this song on a relentless loop, the message drilled into my every cavity and I found my solace.
I realized how in grieving, my mind demands expansive time to itself. That crucial exploration of self via sensations or wonder or the complete absence of the two.
I cried for my father’s short life, for mine, and for the uneasiness I feel when my alone time is chipped and chiseled away.
Tonight I am reflective about my week. About this month, about my father. About the way I choose to spend the time I’m gifted. It appears as though this little series is becoming my own little prescription pad. Just by seeing the writing on it, I already feel better.