Monday, September 3, 2012


the past few weeks have been a kaleidoscope. at times, i look around and i see the most beautiful colors and shapes and they are all dancing together and they are so quiet. it's like swimming with a deep breath. 
then. there are those nights where the shaking and the rattling and the turning are all just too much and i vacillate between insomnia and deep, out of control sleeping that feels like smothering and i can't seem to stop dreaming long enough to actually rest. i find my subconscious reverting back to the typical nightmares of waiting tables where i'm late for my shift and i can't get to everyone at once and no one will help me run drinks. i wore the wrong shoes and i'm going to get written up and every restaurant i've ever worked at becomes one long hallway of tables and i wake up wondering if i turned in the order for table 11. 

my baby has weaned himself in the last week. and i just sat here and wrote about seventeen sentences, one of top of the other, backspace backspace backspace.
these little steps. away. they seem to come quicker this time around.

we went to see my grandparents this weekend. and we are at that strange stage where we know, with certainty, that each time we see them might be the last. i suppose, philosophically speaking, this is true of everyone we see, but it's so much more blatant when you're 94.
i watched my daughter and my grandfather talking and i simultaneously held my breath and tried to look away. even as i snapped pictures. because we all get old. and it sucks. and my daughter has no idea that when i was her age, my grandpa was my favorite person in the whole world and the way he leaned into her when she spoke was so familiar that i felt for a second like i was her and i wondered if he thought that for a minute, too. and then i saw my mom sitting there and that's her dad. and he is very near the end of his life and she is watching it happen and my grandma comes in from getting her hair done and she laughs out loud with that infectious laugh of hers at my son's little one year old antics and we pack up the car and head home and trade pleasantries like it is 1986 and we have so much time ahead of us. 
i start to think that i will be them one day.
and, for the first time, it stuns me. 

sometimes this kaliedoscope is a big, beautiful pile of nonsense.


  1. krista, i give you a big ole hug around the shoulders. it is the hardest damn thing in life and the only thing that gives anything significance, that we are all leaving.

    don't look away, love, even when you are shooting those painful photographs. this reconciling with away is exactly the poignancy of living.

    my daughter, now 12, tells me i am getting old so often it is laughable. in my relative way, i am. yup. i am. i tell her without hesitation that i know this is true and i that i truly believe it is beautiful, not me necessarily but this whole process. perhaps ten years ago i'd not have believed this but there is an incredible freedom in knowing and accepting this. do i value life any less? ohgodno, a hundred fold more))))

    i maintain, you're beautiful, even in your pain, especially in your pain. it's in your pain that life erupts with value)))


  2. girl, your words always alway move me, this time to tears.

    the photo of your grandfather's beautiful, elegant hands and your daughter's legs slays me. (and look at his clothes...what a gentleman.)

  3. OK - I'm here at work bawling. All of this is so true - and exactly the way I felt/feel. He too was my favorite and I was always crushed beyond hope whenever he was angry with me- I never wanted to disappoint him. Daddy (Grandpa) has this special way of making you feel like the only person in the world when you're talking to him. He can feign interest even if bored out of his mind with child banter--and I know the feigning is rare because he truly listens with an open heart. I loved the pictures - and am so glad we all got to see them as a family if but once more. The perfect photo op didn't happen - all the generations in one pic - but that's ok - bits and pieces are fine. The memories of the laughter shared will stay imprinted on my heart.

    As for Dash - he's charging right on ahead with his life - and we'd better just be prepared and at times, learn to get out of the way. He's growing Sweetie, and no longer wants to be a baby. Hard to let go, I know. I still feel the tug of "my apron strings" when you remind me that you are no longer a child....sorry to say, that feeling will never go away. But it's ok - that's part of being a mother.

    Love you Kritter.


  4. Your posts always, always get to me. Even as I'm running around, doing a million things, posting and commenting on everyone's blog, yours is such a treat, such a slow delight - like eating fudge or a strawberry and eating it slowly and enjoying each bite - that it forces my entire world to come to a stop. That's the power of your stories, and your words. And your heart.

  5. Oh, Krista. I feel this all so deeply. It's always that way when I read what you write.

    As odd as it may sound, (although I don't think it will really sound that odd to you) I feel you are a kindred spirit. You show your heart here, and mine wants to fly across space and time and connect with yours.

  6. Your words are always inspiring. You always move us, your readers. I don't kow how you do that but you did. Just keep it up.
    motels albury

  7. I was thinking about my own grandfather this morning. So I wrote a post about him that I'll share later in the week. It's been twenty three years and I still remember him so clearly. So, yes - getting old sucks. Losing those we love sucks. But the memories? They last a long, long time. Thank God.


use your kind words.