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ciroccojRain is pouring down in buckets, and has been doing so for hours. Wow.
I'm sitting here, geeking away, while Chris has a nap and the boys play in the basement. I told them they have free run of the basement, told them to keep it down and only come upstairs in an emergency, and they've been down there happily playing for about 40 minutes. Ah, the freedom of the "4 years & up" age set. Why anybody would look back with fond nostalgia at their kids' baby years is utterly beyond me.
I got a lot of really nice comments, verbally and through e-mail, re the eulogy I wrote for my mother. Apparently lots of people in Guy's family asked him if he could get them a copy. And my father sent it around to friends and family overseas, and my aunt Gilda sent it around to some of the family in Chile. And friends of mine who knew her said it was very true to what she was like.
It feels... I dunno. I'm glad that something I'm apparently good at (writing) was useful to her after her death. I'm glad I was able to share with other people what my mom was like. But at the same time... I dunno, it feels like being proud of the eulogy is wrong, somehow. Like it's more about me than her.
I felt like that at the funeral, too. I don't like being in the spotlight - I mean, at my wedding, one of the most disconcerting things about it was the knowledge that I couldn't fade into the background. I was The Bride. Everything I did, people would notice. Well, the funeral was the same thing. One of the two Chief Mourners on display, that was me.
Brief interruption: Justin just came upstairs very quietly, making little sounds of distress. Not shrieking and thumping, the way he normally does. Came into the study and told me he bumped his head and needed hugs and kisses.
He's such a good kid. Sometimes.
end interruption
Anyway. One thing I'd done the day of the funeral was, I went and bought myself a new skirt, shirt, and shoes. I hate shopping for clothes - I think the last time I bought anything was the summer we moved here (2002), at Value Village (used clothing store). Shopping always feels like a huge waste of time and money, especially when all I ask of my clothes is that they keep me decent, warm, and comfortable.
But my mom was different. She loved buying clothes for herself, and loved getting me new clothes too. She didn't like it when I wore ragged old sweaters or faded jeans or socks with holes in them, even though she knew I didn't care and knew our funds were limited.
So for her funeral, I looked at the formal shirt&skirt set I've worn to every important occasion since I bought it in 1999, and decided to go with what would have made my mom happy. And out I went.
And I got a lot of compliments, especially from my mom's close friends and family, who had heard her bemoan the fact that I never dressed up. I apparently looked pretty good - did her proud, so to speak. And it's the same thing, you know? On the one hand, I'm glad I wasn't (what she would've seen as) a disgrace to her that night. OTOH... I dunno.
This isn't turning out to make any sense at all. And Chris is up and the kids are milling about and one of Daniel's friends wants to play Dungeons and Dragons and feh. Later. When I have my thoughts in a bit more order - assuming there comes such a time.
I'm sitting here, geeking away, while Chris has a nap and the boys play in the basement. I told them they have free run of the basement, told them to keep it down and only come upstairs in an emergency, and they've been down there happily playing for about 40 minutes. Ah, the freedom of the "4 years & up" age set. Why anybody would look back with fond nostalgia at their kids' baby years is utterly beyond me.
I got a lot of really nice comments, verbally and through e-mail, re the eulogy I wrote for my mother. Apparently lots of people in Guy's family asked him if he could get them a copy. And my father sent it around to friends and family overseas, and my aunt Gilda sent it around to some of the family in Chile. And friends of mine who knew her said it was very true to what she was like.
It feels... I dunno. I'm glad that something I'm apparently good at (writing) was useful to her after her death. I'm glad I was able to share with other people what my mom was like. But at the same time... I dunno, it feels like being proud of the eulogy is wrong, somehow. Like it's more about me than her.
I felt like that at the funeral, too. I don't like being in the spotlight - I mean, at my wedding, one of the most disconcerting things about it was the knowledge that I couldn't fade into the background. I was The Bride. Everything I did, people would notice. Well, the funeral was the same thing. One of the two Chief Mourners on display, that was me.
Brief interruption: Justin just came upstairs very quietly, making little sounds of distress. Not shrieking and thumping, the way he normally does. Came into the study and told me he bumped his head and needed hugs and kisses.
He's such a good kid. Sometimes.
end interruption
Anyway. One thing I'd done the day of the funeral was, I went and bought myself a new skirt, shirt, and shoes. I hate shopping for clothes - I think the last time I bought anything was the summer we moved here (2002), at Value Village (used clothing store). Shopping always feels like a huge waste of time and money, especially when all I ask of my clothes is that they keep me decent, warm, and comfortable.
But my mom was different. She loved buying clothes for herself, and loved getting me new clothes too. She didn't like it when I wore ragged old sweaters or faded jeans or socks with holes in them, even though she knew I didn't care and knew our funds were limited.
So for her funeral, I looked at the formal shirt&skirt set I've worn to every important occasion since I bought it in 1999, and decided to go with what would have made my mom happy. And out I went.
And I got a lot of compliments, especially from my mom's close friends and family, who had heard her bemoan the fact that I never dressed up. I apparently looked pretty good - did her proud, so to speak. And it's the same thing, you know? On the one hand, I'm glad I wasn't (what she would've seen as) a disgrace to her that night. OTOH... I dunno.
This isn't turning out to make any sense at all. And Chris is up and the kids are milling about and one of Daniel's friends wants to play Dungeons and Dragons and feh. Later. When I have my thoughts in a bit more order - assuming there comes such a time.
