I have two favorite bloggers; one who writes on most weekdays, and the other who writes on days ending in 'every so often'. I adore them both for different reasons.
There was a time in my life when I wasn't consumed by knitting and spinning, but by reading. I spent quite a bit of my time alone, and that is how I chose to use my evenings and weekends. Overall I'd say I am quite well read (or.. at least I was; now I am quite well knitted). In my history as a reader, only one author ever wrote what I considered to be the perfect sentence. It was Truman Capote, and he described someone in a way that left a taste in my mouth; I purely and completely understood the character.
Sometimes The Enchanting Juno makes me feel the same way.
Backround information on this moment in time:
Currently girls aged 14, 13 and 12 live in our house. Enough said.
I have been sick since September, and only just realized I'm having a flareup.
I'm about to lose a job I have loved.
Another Christmas is around the corner, and my son, the angel, persists in not being tangible. His death has had me in a straight jacket for six years now (God forbid I ever get out of it, because uncontained I believe I could scream buildings into rubble).
I was in 80's recession, and the very word strikes fear into my heart.
Every Christmas, and every August I work up a head of steam while I try different ways to control my feelings. Something always comes along that triggers a release, and I re-discover the truth of being the mother of a dead child. The pain doesn't go away. Cramming it down, trying to ignore or reform it doesn't work; it will find it's way to the surface somehow. Twice each year the top blows off, and then I feel somewhat better and can buck the hell up....
This was my Christmas vent button. It was firmly pressed.
And this is a gem... It put me so firmly and completely in her moment that the red drained from the back of my eyes... became lavender. Make sense? I saw she had posted and I actually saved it up for 1/2 a day before I read it. I picked the perfect time, and she did not disappoint.
Perhaps now I can rest.