Still finding my feet

 

I guess this particular post didn't get published. I had been in a funk & trying hard to scrabble up out of it. Since then I've been doing better, but not without downs as well as ups... 

Also, I've been slowly posting my rough draft of  "Tangent, Anyone?", with the intent of posting a chapter each week. So far, it's been a chapter each month. I guess I'm still finding/fine tuning my new "schedule", which, to be honest, had never been my strong point. Scedules are for getting to class on time at school, & for getting back from breaks on time at work. At home, you do what needs doing, & there is no "schedule"... right? You pivot & lunge from one task to the next; no schedule, except "I'm tired, I'm going to bed". When you wake up, it's time to go again. End of "schedule".

Here's the blog post I was talking about:

I made blackberry cobbler the other evening. It turned out well. I can't find the cookbook that has my usual recipe in it, but instead of being paralyzed by not finding a thing, I looked in another cookbook and found a recipe for cobbler that went together much faster than my old recipe. 

Some times I used to be paralyzed by the not finding of things. Then I gradually learned to move forward any way... "there's always something else that also needs to be done".

I know I'm rambling this morning. I usually am. However, it's been said "shine in your own unique way, so your fellow kind can see your light. That is how you will find 'your tribe'. " 

Lately I've noticed facebeak (I know; whatever) has been sending me "this time last year/10 years ago, you posted this"... and I get to see how awkward I was. I am still awkward. Maybe that's why I have so few friends. I'm ok with that. The few friends I have are my brilliant gems. I wouldn't trade them for the world. They have hearts that spill over with rich generousity. Not constantly; who could do that without burning right out? But consistently. Enough to warm me when I think of them. They are genuine. All of their rough spots are out there in plain sight. I think that's part of the "shine so your tribe can find you" bit. Also, if their rough spots don't bother you, maybe your rough spots won't bother them.  So far I've not been "voted off the island", so I guess it's a safe assumption.

I'm tossing around the idea of  telling you where/how we've been since my first post...but in installments. "Chapter 1; Deryk & I meet & get married - Chapter 2; We move, have a daughter. Chapter 3; we have 2 sons and lots of adventures with all 3 kids. Chapter 4; we leave our home of 19 years; the ODOT saga; Chapter 5; our children grow up. I rarely blog...

You get the idea. 

 

The Next Week (or, What Happened Between Chapter 2 & Chapter 3)

 

I drove home, puzzled.  I took the cooler into the kitchen. I sat at the table and ate half of a sandwich. I put the rest of the sandwiches in the refrigerator. I sat back down and set my head down to think, and fell asleep at the dining table. I think I cried in my sleep, because I woke up wiping my nose on my sleeve.

 

 I noticed the time, and stood up to fix a lunch for myself for work the next day. I found there were already one and a half hoagie sandwiches in the fridge. I felt both the victory of not needing to make a lunch for the next day and the disappointment over my missing friend.

 

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

“Where did you go, when you and Dorothy went for a drive on Saturday?”

“Did Dorothy ever say any thing to you or give you any thing? Any thing that would help us find out where she might have gone?” 

 

I wasn’t able to remember any more than looking at the country side, noticing the trees and some landscaping. I wasn’t sure if we did go for a drive, or if we were going to go for a drive. I assumed the former, since every one who asked me, was assuming that we did.  Every one asked me the same questions, and then asked them again.

 

The manager of the home called me on Monday. I spoke to him after I got home from work.

 

On Tuesday a police detective called me and asked for an interview. I spoke to him after I got off of work. 

 

On Wednesday a private detective hired by Toby and Katy called and asked if we could talk “over a cup of coffee”. We did so after I got off of work. I had tea, not coffee.

Toby and Katy themselves sent a letter. It came to me on Thursday. They asked me the same questions. I replied to them in a letter with the same answers I’d given every one else.

 

 I told each of them the same thing, each time; we went for a drive in the country side. I pointed out the trees and landscaping. Dorothy didn’t give me any thing. She smiled, but never spoke.

 

On Friday I went to the post office and mailed the letter to Toby and Katy. A small package had come in the mail for me. The handwriting was Dorothy’s. I waited until I got home to open it. Inside was an envelope and a key; Dorothy’s key to the Rabbit.