My Dad died in December, and am still in shock, let alone all the other stages ofgrief. Going down to Santa Barbara, being there not just the last week, but the last moments, was overwhelming. I play infinite games of solitaire, the feeling of being stuck at an airport, waiting for the final departure at the terminal.
Coming home, I found solace in deep cleaning. I had been shirking many a yearly chore since my sister-in-law, Carol, died eighteen months ago. Washing the inside windows is no easy task since I have a plethora of dingles and dangles, but my biggest decision was to burn the two thousand cranes that have been my overhead living room decoration for years. I first started folding them when my Dad was diagnosed with cancer in 2003.
There have been more deaths, piling up faster than the dust bunnies. I buy more sympathy cards than birthday cards these days. I make roasted butternut squash soup, spanikopita, lasagna, all the comfort foods I revisited in COVID days.
I bought some metallic paints and a new portable light table, investing in my art, starting up the rune project again. The next one is Coyote, Loki.
