Life Goes On (and on, and on, and on....)

What a blogging slacker I am! I'm not sure how long it's been since my last post, but I know I have been severely remiss in my online record-keeping. Of course I am a virtual paragon of good intentions (as I used to be every single year I would receive yet another diary; transcribing every little event, right up until January 18th would roll around and the poor leatherbound pretty would commence collecting dust for eternity). Ah well, I would venture to say things are different these days: this, rather than some chronological bore-fest of Jameson's diaper changings and my trips to the grocery store, is more of a collection of, how did I put it? "musings and mutterings", I think- more of a smattering of the more memorable events, interspersed with recurring thoughts I feel are worthy of publication.

So, now that I've applied the balm of justification on my rash of slacker guilt, we can proceed.

Grandma is out of the hospital, the whole family breathing a collective sigh of relief yet again. After a bevy of tests and bushel of Medicare dollars (I'm sure) not one of those snooty specialists will venture a diagnosis; no, their prescription pads instead held up to mask expressions of clueless dismay, they simply scribble more painkillers, anticoagulants and advisements to "take it easy" while we just "wait and see". Grrr.

* * * * * * (a short time later) * * * * * * * *

The house seems remarkable empty, as it's just myself and my just-turned 8-month-old child. The man of the house is out of town, as his occupation all too often requires him to be, and today of all days I find myself missing him terribly. It's not so much the challenge of chasing around our son by myself as I try to get work done(although since our boy started crawling and pulling himself up on things a few weeks ago, things have gotten really interesting around here). Nor is it the loneliness of an empty bed at night- if anything, I welcome the chance to leave the bedside lamp on, reading grittty police procedurals into the wee hours of the night. No, instead I think it's that lack of comfortable back-and-forth communication that I've come to expect and love, a privelege of marriage that comes when you know your spouse inside and out, and they you. The anticipation of, and meeting, each other's needs. The little touches, insignificant to a stranger's eye, but carrying hidden meaning between two people who are still in love after how ever many years. Those are the things I miss when he's gone, and that's what makes this little house seem cavernous with his absence.

When I said "today of all days" I was referring to the fact that, today, December 11th, is Tony's birthday. Now, my hubby has never made a big deal out of his anniversary of birth, and since he's recently crept into his fourth decade of existence, it's even worse. I, on the other hand, am a huge celebrator of any holiday, and the birthdays of those near and dear to me are no exception. So, of course I was devastated when he informed me of his being down in Walla Walla on this date, his time of return uncertain. Not only could I not cook some lavish dinner and present his gifts to him on this day, I couldn't even plan for a belated soiree. No, instead I am left bereft and melancholy, bemoaning his lack of interest in what I wish I could make a perfect day for him, but cannot.

So this morning found me maudlin and edgy, wandering through the house with my coffee cup in hand, distractedly smiling at my son's conquering instincts but preoccupied with thoughts of his father. As the day has progressed, the fog has lifted somewhat, but I still yearn for the homecoming of my other half, as I can't seem to fill the void of his presence with busyness or escapism of other kinds. All too often, I feel as though we take each others' existence for granted, and I just can't wait to frame his face with my hands and look into his eyes, and tell him all I've just written and more.