Off facebook and on Neptune

A year ago today. We picked up the keys mid afternoon, got sandwiches from SAMs and krista brought us here. Unbelievable and break taking that our keys opened the door to this bright, beautiful, empty and clean space, and it belonged to us. It felt surreal walking a long king street with the key in my hand. It felt surreal to open the door nd walk through the house.     A year later the space is starting to feel like home. A little lived in and worse for wear in spots, ei the kitchen and garden, but it is a house full of love and laughter. We argue, we fight, we are the petulant children we never were, but we love, we grow, we compromise. So, does the house. It excuses our mistakes, the roughness, we are not the retired Leneys who were deeded this place before us. Cooper with his clunking bones dinging up the hardwood. The cats shedding. BBQ sauce on the ceiling tonight. The house is no longer a show piece, it is a home. Our home.    Every day I love him more. Everyday I realize jut ho

Laura Arual is a little home sick. 

Laura Arual is homesick; she wants her own pillow, her own bed, and her own man snoring next to her. 

Laura Arual listens to his soft snores and hopes the nightmares are over for tonight. 

Laura Arual thinks that time mellows most monsters.

Laura Arual might almost be satisfied with this appearance of off-Facebook. 

Laura Arual is twenty minutes of digital typing to figure it out a little bit.

Laura Arual compares then and now. She likes now much better.

The bed feels empty without him. An old back injury, making itself known, has forced him to sleep on the couch, so I am left alone in the bed. I used to hate sharing a bed with anyone. After the deed was done, I was glad when J left so I could stretch out and fall asleep in silence, The first summer when Chris didn't leave, or I couldn't, it felt weird. It felt like there were nights where I laid awake all night listening to him snore and resenting him for each nocturnal noise. Plus, I was too freaked out, overstimulated, by what had happened during the day that it played like a loop over and over in my mind.     Now, those nocturnal noises are part of the white noise. They cover up the sounds that the house and three roaming cats make. He is the warmth. My heart-racing, eyes wide awake, senses tingling dreams have all but ended. He takes my hand and tugs me back to reality, and I fall back asleep mumbling apologies for having woken him. He doesn't need to mention them in t

So, a year into this home ownership thing and I like it, I like living here. Sometimes I miss my apartment, but it all seems so long ago. Some of the marvel of the house is gone, but every once and a while I am reminded of what I had there and what I have here. Three bathroom, a main floor laundry room, a BBQ, a basement - different rooms for different functions. Truly riches.      This is exactly the summer that I need - waking up when ever I want, doing whatever, little adventures with Chris. I am so happy every day. I look forward to every day. I can honestly say I often did not feel like that at the apartment. I had moments, but I also remember a lot of sadness, a lot of emptiness. A lot of looking for ways to fill the time. Here, now, I feel like I don't have enough time to do all the things I want to do.     Yes, it is the house. But it is him. His presence fills up the days and makes everything interesting. 

Laura Arual loves him, and his special brand of odd, a little bit more every day. Who else devises a plan to reform the Canadian senate on a Sunday morning after breakfast? Life is not as quiet at it once was, but it is way more interesting. In those few moments of solitude, she again pauses to wonder how did she ever get so lucky to be so loved and so entertained?

I am attempting to redesign my blog. One of them... the other two remain dormant. I am not sure what I want this space to look like. The design mimicing facebook is obselete, but nothing else seems to suit.    Perhaps that dissatisfaction and restlessness with the design is a reflection of how I feel about everything else. With the book inventorying, this round of stalled writing. Perhaps too much put on this summer. Expectations too high. As I type this I realize I need to stop and listen to the clicking of the keys coming from Chris' office. 10:14 am on the second official day of vacation and breakfast has been made, the dog played with and a stab taken at domestic chores. This is what I looked forward to all year.    And, remember the day is a good one when it is creative. That is what matters.

At the end of each academic year, I bid farewell to th names on my class lists, shuck off the teacher robes for two months, and then get new names for the class lists. But, just because those names aren't on the list, doesn't mean I stop thinking about them. I do. And running into them during the course of daily life is thrilling. I love to see them all grown up and doing the things I had hoped they would. Thanks to Facebook. I am able to see that a little more.     Last nigh I learned via Facebook that a ornery student had died. A three times a week rotary kid who ate daily at breakfast club for two years. When I read it, my first thought was some stupid teen misadventure like a car accident, followed by the thought of a drug overdose. With his background, that would not have been surprising.    Nothing in the paper, nothing online. Such little value the life of a 16year old south end kid. So i face booked a former student who would know things. She told me he killed himself

A practical note: this is the first post using the wireless keyboard for the ipad. It feels both so wrong and so right at the same time.    Sunday of the first week of summer holidays. I am driving Chris bonkers. I am driving myself bonkers. Restless energy. Pent up adrenelaine that has no outlet. No outlet except housework. Housework that I don't want to do. But my mind won't focus on anything. I need a project, an anchor. I am hoping that I can restart writing. It would be hugely satisfying if I could finish something this summer. If I listen carefully enough, I can hear the characters, but I am not able to read because I fear that it will be garbage when I read it again. Haha, Excuses, excuses. I trap myself with manufactured worry when I should just take the chance. I will: Tomorrow I will reread Sissy's piece - I know where the gaps are, I need to fill them in.     This summer deserves to be a time of rest and relaxation. Productivity will be defined through the creati