Coming Up For Air.
No cohesive thoughts this Friday morning. Everything is completely tangled. Life has been insane lately (but fun!). In efforts to unravel the threads:
Working remotely this morning. I first tried to get online at my mother's office, but the Internet Nazis who set up her office's wireless wouldn't let me access anything resembling a social networking site. Or my dLife email. Or IM. Or the goodies being worked through at Blogabetes. So now I'm holed up in a Starbucks in Providence, drinking iced coffee and trying not to spill it on my laptop. (So far, the "ctrl' key only has some crumbs from my Blueberry Nutrigrain bar.)
Tomorrow is our enGAGment party. My mother, in charge of the cake, confided in me that she wanted to have a big cake with Cinderella and Prince Charming on it. After seeing my face turn white with panic, she told me that she hadn't done that. After seeing the flash of disappointment, she told me she still could, if I wanted. (Note to self: Kerri, you are 28 years old. Start acting your age.) The enGAGment party will mark the first time that ALL of our family members will be at the same place. I'm excited, and definitely charging my camera battery to make sure I don't miss a minute. (Is it tacky to liveblog from your own enGAGment party?)
Siah's little paws are raw from typing, but she's doing a great job maintaining the LOL Diabetes site. She's also building her own staff team - with the help of Kahlua from Rachel's crew. Siah tells me that she's received many excellent LOL submissions, and she's readying hers for next week. Damn silly cat. Have you submitted something to Siah? Email her and send her your LOL Diabetes moments.
After my grammie passed away, my mother and her husband ended up with Grammie's car. My mom was driving it today. When she was putting some tables for the enGAGment party in my car, I noticed a big wooden table leg in the trunk.
"Ma, what is that?"
"Oh, that's the beating stick." She continued to load things into my car while I stopped and stared at her for a minute.
"I'm sorry - what? The beating stick?"
She went over to the trunk and picked up the table leg.
"This was under the front seat of Grammie's car. She drove with it there all the time, in case she ended up on the side of the road somewhere and needed to defend herself,"
"By beating someone with a table leg." I finished for her.
"Right." She brandished it with a flourish, and then a grin. She looked just like her mother - my grammie - for a moment.
I thought about my grandmother, silly and laughing and following through whenever anyone dared her to do something, like a handstand in the mud. She once accidentally cooked a bandaid into an apple pie. She once was the star of a short movie my brother made called "Grambo," where she pretended to storm a military base (which was nothing more than a fort in our backyard.) She hugged us a lot. She was sweet and loving.
The mental picture of her, standing on a deserted roadside if her car had broken down, brandishing a wooden table leg for protection made me smile.
It's true, that they're always with us. I saw her today, reflected in my mother's smile.