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This past weekend, I started small-scale organizing. I began with the bathroom cupboards. You wouldn’t think that’s an emotionally daunting task, but it is/was/is/was. Whatever. Yes. One corner had Bryan’s contact supplies, some cologne he never wore. I went through like a small cyclone. The third drawer down by the sink, emptied of beard trimmer and accessories, now holds hair ties and clips. I hate everything about it and know it’s time and necessary. I keep telling myself, every hard thing I don’t do is something someone else will have to. Early July, there will be a yard sale. I’ll give more details as that nears. I keep plugging away at shredding and sorting and donating.

This sense of “doing” something stems largely from the feeling of helplessness. As I look at and experience (what I consider awful) cultural whiplash, I find a gift in the act of menial tasks once again. And I also look for the lifting of weight because much right now feels so heavy.

I’ll be selling my piano, too. The last time I played it in earnest was on January 6th, 2021 when I plunked out to the best of my abilities “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” I was angry and disgusted with what I witnessed happening at the Capitol. I remembered my mom sorting through her feelings often by playing the piano. It’s what I had in the moment because I didn’t even have words. This past week all those convicted for what they did that day have been pardoned. I’m sickened. And I need someone with a stronger heart than mine to plunk out the chords.

Sitting here thinking about how to streamline things, make them neater, simpler, throwing off ballast and battening down the hatches, I am determined. The process isn’t fun. It isn’t easy. It is, however, necessary.

One of the hardest things about being a widow, or anyone who has been through dramatic life changes, is rediscovering oneself. While Bryan was alive and we were together, we developed a way of being that I understood. We had challenges, we both grew and changed, but at our base we had this solid foundation. In that space, I understood him, myself, and us. That dynamic has shifted and I’ve been paddling like I mother-flipping mean it (laugh with me Kambra) to figure out all the things—who I am, what I want, where am I going, to what purpose any of it.

I can tell you with 100% certainty, it’s the most miserable, affirming, important process of my life. Walking by the sound of running water has helped me keep my sanity and my heart from crystallizing or shattering. I have (and will continue to) open myself up to possibilities. So far, I have had varying degrees of success and failure with those. There’s tremendous vulnerability in living open-heartedly. Pain, it appears, is a constant, but numb is far worse because it’s only a temporary reprieve.

Maybe that’s the whole point—getting back up, trying, learning, and holding space for serendipity and joy.

Bryan often used to say “I never lose. I win or I learn.” Here’s to learning, sweetheart.

I don’t have a lot to say. That’s not true. I’ve got more words than I know what to do with, but not all of them are good or important or necessary to write or speak out loud right now. So, I’ll do a little music round-up instead. Here’s what’s been on frequent rotation in the last few weeks. (Disclaimer: Some of the choices below have colorful language. If that’s not your bag, please skip this post.)

Yes, I’m fully aware I have lots of people to love and I do, but the longing for romance is still there. I’ll be 87 and it will still be there. It’s how I’m built. Sorry not sorry.

This brings me so much joy. If you can get past the curse-y words, the lyrics are just so so so good.

Every time this 90s throwback comes up on my playlist, I get ridiculously happy and belt it out in my kitchen. The cats are ambivalent, but I sure like it.

Joan Jett has been a mainstay for the last month. I’ve adored her since I was a little girl. “I Love Rock-n-Roll” was my anthem at five. Ha! I just feel a little stronger when I listen to her and sometimes a person has to use all the tools in her arsenal.

And this one is complete silliness that makes me smile. Absolute ridiculousness. What can I say, you can smack some polish and vocabulary on me, but I’m still a redneck. 😛

What are you listening to?

I live in a valley known for it’s wheat production. The dryland wheat at the foot of the Blues means this stuff just grows, without extra irrigation. Wheat has meant big money in this valley for a long time. It’s no coincidence my favorite place to walk is called Mill Creek. These things make think about the gristmill in the small Western Washington town my mama grew up in. Whole kernals of wheat are ground down to make flour, and flour makes everything delicious we’re supposed to have less of now. Once it sustained life.

There’s a lot going in our world, near and far that feels like a millstone grinding our spirits, our tenderness, our compassion, our faith, hope, and love. Fires. Loved ones suffering. Illness. Disinformation. Children carrying the brunt of evil. I don’t know, sometimes the whole adds up to far more than I have the capacity to process. So whatdyagunnado?

This morning, I baked bread to share. Create and connect. When ground down to flour, bake bread. Share it.