I’m back from the Jane Austen retreat. Every part of my body hurts, I’m exhausted, but I had such a good time. I wanted to share a little about the weekend while it was fresh on my mind.
A year ago, we did our first camping trip with friends. We’ve camped a number of times with family, but had never been fully independent camping. We’d camp with my parents and they brought the camp kitchen and planned the meals. I was pretty nervous the first time we went it alone. But then we had an amazing time and were talking about doing it again this year by the end of that first trip.
These past weeks, unless you were living under a rock, the already scary, unpredictable, and unfeeling world we’ve been living in got worse. Then a few days ago, one of my teenage daughters was assaulted by a former friend over a false rumor.
I’m tired of having to choose what to do with my limited resources. I’m spending a lot of time cleaning and fixing things, because it’s satisfying and doesn’t require me to be very creative.
A hole mended, a hinge repaired, a pile of crumbs vacuumed, does not a blog post make. I didn’t even realize I hadn’t posted for all of February until the month was over.
A few years ago, I wrote a post about a high school classmate of mine and what our friendship had meant to me.
This fall, that classmate passed away.
He wasn’t the first of my graduating class to cross over, but he was the first that I knew well enough to feel the loss.
He had married outside of our friend circle and most of us didn’t hear about the ceremony that was held in his honor until after it had taken place. Grief circled around me with no place to land.
