I've had a busy day off. I tried to sleep in but the animals wouldn't let me. They were up at 8:00 and so was I. But I guess that is sleeping in, considering that I'll be up at 5:30 tomorrow morning. These things are relative.
I took the tree down today. And I did the post-holiday housecleaning: sheets, bathrooms, dusting, vacuuming, kitchen, and general tidying-up. I got out the Dirt Devil and cleaned the basement stairs. And I moved all the furniture when I vacuumed. I still didn't find the missing birthday card - the cats probably hid it under the fridge, which means that the next people who own the house will find it. If they have cats, they'll understand.
Today is Ron's nameday. You know that - it's the feast of St. Basil the Great. Say extra prayers for him since you're his de facto, in not official, godfather. I know you won't forget his birthday since he was born on the day you turned twenty.
And that's the next painful anniversary. I wonder how hard your birthday will hit me this year. Everything is a surprise in this strange world of widowhood. There are no maps. And, if there were, they wouldn't help because everyone's journey is different, especially when it comes to timing. I do know that I am glad you were born, so it is a day to celebrate. When I say my bedtime prayers every night, the thing I give the most thanks for is you. I give thanks for you, for the years I spent with you, and for the hope of being with you again. Save a spot for me!
Climbing towards you,