Tears At Midnight
Last night I read through Down Home Musings, start to finish. Four months of entries in my blog journal that have now morphed into my first about-to-be-published book. A few of the originals were taken out, a few pieces from my other journal added. Some poetry had to be jettisoned due to publication rights. But essentially, it is what you read online daily, weekly, or sometimes, from July 2005 until I left Osceola in October 2005. Those magic summer and early fall days have now become a precious memory.
The book proofs arrived via e-mail yesterday and I was up until midnight re-reading and searching for those dreaded typos. I poured myself a big glass of raspberry iced tea (my drink of choice on those hot days on the porch of Terrapin Station) and revisited my life back in Missouri. It seems so far away now.
The tears came as I read the last entry. It was a special place…my little spot of earth to take care of for awhile…and I hold it dear. My life here in the Northwest is busier and less structured and more open to whimsy and happenstance. Good, I suppose, for me at this stage of my life. The best part of course is being with my family and you have read here about all they do for me.
I know, too, that the Terrapin Station I remember and loved for five years, is not there anymore. Altered irreparably by new construction and zoning changes and the loss of some of the best neighbors. I also am different. Changed irreparably by aging and reduced abilities. Not to mention political breakdown, peak oil, global warming and other world issues that contribute to the inadvisability of living in a rural area in the middle of nowhere.
But I miss it. I miss May and the emergence of the yard with flowers springing up in unexpected spots, the sound of the first thunderstorms, the crack of lightning, the smell of the fresh cut grass. I miss the porch and the sunrises, and the sunsets, and the clouds, and the sound of the wind at night. I miss Louie and Winkie (the cardinals) and Dudley Do Right (the downy woodpecker). I even…if you can believe this…miss Jump Stop Pizza.
Do dogs have memory of place? It seems sometimes, as Princess stares off into the distance, that she might be thinking of that yard she loved and her kiddie wading pool. It was the first home for her and for Buddy. And the first home I owned all by myself. The memories linger on in the book.
The book proofs arrived via e-mail yesterday and I was up until midnight re-reading and searching for those dreaded typos. I poured myself a big glass of raspberry iced tea (my drink of choice on those hot days on the porch of Terrapin Station) and revisited my life back in Missouri. It seems so far away now.
The tears came as I read the last entry. It was a special place…my little spot of earth to take care of for awhile…and I hold it dear. My life here in the Northwest is busier and less structured and more open to whimsy and happenstance. Good, I suppose, for me at this stage of my life. The best part of course is being with my family and you have read here about all they do for me.
I know, too, that the Terrapin Station I remember and loved for five years, is not there anymore. Altered irreparably by new construction and zoning changes and the loss of some of the best neighbors. I also am different. Changed irreparably by aging and reduced abilities. Not to mention political breakdown, peak oil, global warming and other world issues that contribute to the inadvisability of living in a rural area in the middle of nowhere.
But I miss it. I miss May and the emergence of the yard with flowers springing up in unexpected spots, the sound of the first thunderstorms, the crack of lightning, the smell of the fresh cut grass. I miss the porch and the sunrises, and the sunsets, and the clouds, and the sound of the wind at night. I miss Louie and Winkie (the cardinals) and Dudley Do Right (the downy woodpecker). I even…if you can believe this…miss Jump Stop Pizza.
Do dogs have memory of place? It seems sometimes, as Princess stares off into the distance, that she might be thinking of that yard she loved and her kiddie wading pool. It was the first home for her and for Buddy. And the first home I owned all by myself. The memories linger on in the book.
posted by Free Spirit at 9:57 PM
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