I rode in my first horse show Saturday and I asked her to make an appearance somehow. When I drove up to the show barn, there was a dove in the middle of the road. It looked at me, waited, and flew.

I got a blue ribbon my first class and I remembered I'd just had her ribbons out from the 1940 fair.

Part of me sees the connection. The other part of me is ready to move forward. I'm feeling like words aren't as needed right now for me to grieve.

I feel like I'm ready to create in textures again. Soon I'll start my Blankets of Comfort.

When I learn a new technique with my horse, the teacher explains it, then I try it, work on it, the next day or week I might forget parts of it, then I have to go back and remember the nuances and do it again and again until it becomes part of me.

That's what getting through this is like.

She would have been 14. One has to digest the path of those we lose before we move on.

Journal

I haven't felt her energy much in the past couple weeks. I've been so busy, working on my new publishing venture, getting ready for my first parade and horse show...when I think of her it's quick thoughts during the day, but I'm busy living and loving life.

Still, when I rode in the parade today - I've always wanted to ride my horse in a parade and did at age 55 this morning - there was a second where I got verklempt, just a second. I know she was there, just checking in.

Elder matriarch

Poem

In every room of this house

I run into you.


In a closet

of your old sweaters,


In a kitchen

with recipe cards from your hand

or a mixing bowl we made my first cake in

It was white with chocolate frosting, I remember.


In a bathroom with your emory board

an emery board that went to each and every

house you lived in, I remember.


In every room I run into you

Because you go where I go now.

I found this in her closet.