lizardek's obiter dictum lizardek Home Now Then Friends Info Ek Family
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I said, I don't know how to get started again. I don't know where to begin. It seems so trivial to just write a diary-log of my days, what I did, where I went, what I bought. What I ate. It's more fun and it means more to me when I write things that seem to reflect the inner surface of my shiny and distracted brain. Things that I want to read about when someone else writes them. Things that make me smile or think or go "huh, that was cool."

My mom said, write about your family. Write about what differences you noticed after being around family again after so long. It's been 3 years since I saw my cousins, saw their children, watched them line up 9 in a row from oldest (and tallest) to youngest and most manic. Most dimple-filled. Most smiley. Most thoughtful. Most observant. All those small eyes watching us, their parents, as we careened around my mom's house and snarfed down cheesecake and dip made with cream cheese and Hormel chili. The house, if it could have, would have rocked with laughter and conversation. How do you write about that? I don't know if you can write about it. I think you can only go through it and enjoy it and hope that it will not be 3 years until the next time, even if sometimes you wonder what do you really have to talk about with those cousins who live such a different life? That sister who lives so far away? Those nieces and nephews who don't know you at all, really. They might have houses and jobs and kids, but still, they don't know my life. I don't know theirs.

At the dinner table one night, 3 of the children sat and listened in round-eyed fascination while my sister told stories of us from our childhood. My mom told a story, and my husband, and then I did. We conjured up other children in the air around our heads and it was us: me, my sister, my brother. Making mudpies at Babyface Creek and being frightened by a water moccasin. Fights we had, things we did, that made us laugh and grimace and paint into word pictures that have lasted through our growing time and become tales to weave wonder into our children's ears with. Look! Your parents were children, too! How strange.

My mom put her warm hands on my head late last night when I couldn't get to sleep, strung tight like a wire after a stressful few hours dealing with work catch-up in preparation for my first day back after 2 weeks. I had to laugh when 3 different colleagues told me how many emails they had received, how many conversations they had had with people saying that they needed me back, where was I, when was I going to be back and HOW I COULD NEVER LEAVE AGAIN.

She didn't rub or press or caress. She just set her fingers on my skull and held it, and I laid there, sideways in the bed and thought how strange it was that I was grown and yet still her child. Her firstborn baby, lying there in that bed, twitching with the need to relax and let go so I could be well-rested for the next day. I kid my mom a lot. I roll my eyes at her and laugh at her (and with her) and I rib her and give her shit. But she holds my head and my heart in her hands. And inside, where I couldn't hear her, I could feel that she was singing me to sleep.

A barrelfull of belated birthday wishes to : travelertrish, reebert, thistimearound and kissekat!
location: Massachusetts
music: Mom getting ready for bed, me tip-tapping on the keyboard


*smiling* There really aren't words for this entry, so I'll leave it at that.

Thanks, you :)

(no subject) - (Anonymous)

I know just what you mean. Underpouring is a good word. I feel like I do that a lot.

Sweet. In every sense of the word. I'll call you tomorrow.

Oh, that's so lovely. Thank you!

You're welcome! I saw your books several times in the bookstores while I was shopping like a maniac for books here. :) I didn't buy them, though, because I have them already! :D

Welcome back. I missed you, and hearing about the rhythm of your life. Great entry.

Thanks! Being offline that long is torturous. Not only can I not remember mos of the things I wanted to write about, I'll NEVER catch up with reading!

I know what you mean. Times when I've gone away for the weekend without computer and I think I will catch up... HA! And my flist is way shorter than yours.



What a lovely entry from a missed lizardek! :)

Parents are gold. They are the ground we stand on, the safe place, the people who will always catch you when you fall, who rise with you when you're happy and make your happiness grow even more... Who love you, no matter what. They love everything in you. Your good and your bad sides. They love YOU, unconditionally. In a way no friend or lover could ever do.

How I miss that safe place that only my father could give me - now I only have it deep in my heart, in my memories and the love that transcends from this world and beyond, and back again. It's a treasure, but it's not the same as the real hug, the real headstroke, the real voice of support, the physical earthly presence, the earthly love... Cherish this moment with your mother in your heart. It's gold!

What a beautiful entry. Thanks. :)

Mia :)

Oh, Liz. That made me cry and wish for warm fingers belonging to my mother.

Thank you.

Didn't mean to make you cry. :( Sending you hugs!! Want to borrow my mom for awhile? :)

Huh, that was cool.


Heh. You made me laugh :)

It really doesn't matter that you can't describe it exactly, I'm glad you went through it. That's enough :oD

It is, isn't it? :)

Good to hear from you, sounds like this was magic!


Something about absence and the heart goes here. I sure have missed you, Liz.


aw, thanks for that comment, Chuck. That was nice of you to say. :)

so often your entries make me think of the things I should be doing with my own children. keep on writing, and speaking.

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