Is this thing on?
Hey there, wordpress. It’s been a while.
4 years, 8 months, 6 days, 17 hours, 5 minutes and 2 seconds to be exact, but who’s counting?
I’m still riding my bike. I still read books. I still like the color blue. I’m coming back. I promise.
Or not, as I don’t really know enough about stats to do any calculations, but here is a numbers based review of the biggest thing I just did:
10,359 miles by plane
733 miles by bus
176 miles by rental car
10 miles (or so) of subway rides
25 miles (or so) by cab
150 miles (give or take a few dozens) walked (in museums, surface streets, through subway stations and airport terminals)
6 countries (though 2 don’t really count)
1100+ photos and videos
It’s been 11 days. It feels like yesterday, but yet, it feels like it was forever ago. I still cry. I still miss her like crazy. I cried yesterday. I cried today! This is definitely the “blues” part of my blog title.
We are going to Europe for 3 weeks for a research trip, and friends are watching the dogs and the house for us while we are gone. The vet called, and said that Noire’s remains are back, ready to be picked up when I am ready, and that they will take good care of her until that time. It made me cry all over again. While we are in Europe, I plan to look for the perfect box or container to bring her home in. I have a great photo I took of her feet. It was actually a scan – I had her sit on the scanner and got a perfect image. I want to use that to create an image of her paws and frame it with a photo of her, and her collar and tag in a shadow box. The container will sit on the shelf beside the bed, near me as I sleep.
LOVE is anterior to life,
Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
The exponent of breath.
– Emily Dickinson
by Paul Celan
Count up the almonds,
count what was bitter and kept you waking,
count me in too:
I sought your eye when you looked out and no one saw you,
I spun that secret thread
where the dew you mused on
slid down to pitchers
tended by a word that reached no one’s heart. Continue reading
Wislawa Szymborska (translated from Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh)
It can’t take a joke,
find a star, make a bridge.
It knows nothing about weaving, mining, farming,
building ships, or baking cakes.
In our planning for tomorrow,
it has the final word,
which is always beside the point. Continue reading