Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Seven months have passed since I last posted. I've been vacillating about continuing the blog, mostly leaning the direction of no. But the last few weeks . . . something has been stirring, reawakening. It's still a bit groggy and might take some time to come fully awake. That's okay. Like with many areas of my life these days, I'm going to let it take all the time it needs. Some changes will be made, starting with the title. I started this blog when I was 45 years old. I'm now 59. My children are young adults and doing well. I live in a little green with yellow accents Craftsman style house in a village in the middle of corn and soybean fields. Two Australian shepherds keep me company. I spend my days thinking about the end of my teaching career and the beginning of my retirement.  Which is why the title Standing at the Trailhead of Winter seems fitting for the blog.

Well, I had the thought of closing the blog. I've not been posting recently, and every time I thought about writing a post, that sinking feeling I get when I really don't want to do something filled the pit of my stomach. I've learned to listen to that feeling. I've learned it's telling me I'm not ready yet. More time needs to pass. More healing has to happen . . . whatever is hurting needs more space, more time. Over the last few months, the hurting has been the incredibly huge, empty space left when I said goodbye to Ado. Even now, the sadness creeps up on me nearly every day. Murphy, too, is still adjusting to being without his best buddy. I try to keep Murphy busy, which keeps me busy, so we both have some respite from missing Ado. But I know I'm not what Murphy really needs.  I realized recently just how much most of my days are filled with silence. I haven't had the stereo on, listening to my albums or my CDs like I used to. I only listened to Chri...

Yep. I'm seriously considering leaving the space where I'd built my website and returning to A Clunk Upstairs. I've not totally committed to doing so, and I still have five months left for the year I've paid for to use the space, but I'm realizing I had a pretty good thing going right here. I've never felt totally at home in the other spot, not like I did here. And being here right now feels perfect, like I've slipped my hands into well-worn gloves without tears in the seams or holes at the end of the fingertips. So, I think I'll slowing return and phase out the other space at the same time. To be continued . . . (and this just put a huge smile on my face, which tells me I'm making the right decision).

Busted. After almost two years of me blogging, Hubby found my blog. He didn't seem terribly hurt that I've not clued him in about me writing for this long without telling him. Rather, he simply asked, "What else have you been doing for almost two years that I don't know about?" Well, . . . Nothing. I can honestly say this is the only secret I've been keeping. Up til today, no family or friends have known about my blog, and I enjoyed the fact that I've had something that's just mine. While I didn't dish about him, much anyway, it was liberating knowing I didn't have to worry about what I wrote since people I know had no idea I was writing in the first place. Now I have to worry about it. S**t.