Thistle's Correspondence

The sadness about what happened in December is getting better, but turns out Thistle has begun to talk about my friend, by name; she made my friend a little card with her Care Bears greeting card maker (a cute purple Harmony Bear, who is the musician of the Care Bears, surrounded by stars and flowers).  She wrote the person's name on the card and asked me to send it (which I didn't, as I can't).  Later that day, she asked when we were going to go to eat Chinese food with my friend, AND go to "Africa dance" with them.  Then she said she wanted "noodle worms" for dinner "like (my friend) said".

 I just didn't say anything conclusive to her at all.  She really liked my friend and got along well with them.  It is hard for me to see her be so hopeful like this.

It is just sad.  At least I didn't cry in front of her, but my heart is heavy.  There will always be reminders, and I know that.  It is just sad that someone she connected with so well is gone, probably forever.

Some days are like this, as I keep saying.

On a happier note, I took a nice drive in Corralitos (a rural area in Santa Cruz County, and a place I used to live).  I have a meditation spot now by Corralitos Creek (I used to live at the confluence of Browns and Corralitos Creek, a magical place indeed. And I bought applewood smoked turkey sausages and "cheesy Bavarian" sausages (sausages with sharp cheddar in them).  They are the only meat I will eat these days, as they remind me of one of the most beautiful times of my life; they are the flavor of creativity, bliss, and hope, as I bore a child at that time after having a stillbirth a year before, and lived a wonderful, creative year there.  I am so glad there are nice places to meditate and hike on Browns Valley Road, even though I no longer live in the house up there.

And my Sungold tomato in my garden is getting so large (higher than my head) that I had to cage it.  The cage is a little ugly in my beautiful garden, but it's necessary, and I am keeping my mind on wonderful little orange tomatoes, for snacks and tomato-ginger soup.

There is an art to holding grief in the hands, metaphorically, being with it, seeing it and acknowledging it, but not letting it overwhelm.  This I try to do.

And so it goes.