July, so I only missed 2013-and-half by a little bit. But I’ve been surprised in this first almost-half how little I’ve actually written. I have enjoyed what little bit of time I’ve got to spend doing this, but it’s been so much harder than I anticipated. I’ll often write something and have it saved as a draft for months and then just trash it. Too short, too personal, too boring, no beginning, no ending, no point!

I think I have writers block-the illness. I wonder how they cure it? Whatever they do I hope it’s not shots in the stomach, like for arthritis or allergies. That has to be the worst.

July resolution? Blog more. Not write more. Just do more here.

There is nothing more universally true than the fact that cantaloupe ruins a fruit salad.

And Rascal Flatts isn’t a good band.

Everyone knows if you’re running late to get home at night you can turn your headlights off at the stoplights down the gravel roads and just keep rolling.

It’s proven Gilbert doesn’t like red.

It’s undeniable sleeping in a room with dolls is creepy, and so is neighbor Russell.

Car trips are to be measured in Wishbones.

If you’re going to have to do work outside you should do it in a swimsuit to get a tan…

And if there’s anywhere better on Earth than the Black Hills, we’ve never been there.

When I first met my husband one of the many interesting items in his bachelor pad was a large carboy half full of change. I was never very good at guessing “how many” were in a jar- but there was definitely over $500 in there. It weighed so much that when we got married if I wanted to move it I’d sit on my butt and push it around with my feet on the cold glass.

We always said it was our vacation fund, to go to Disney world or ride in a hot air balloon. But the idea of dumping out all those coins in exchange for a few numbers in our electronic bank broke my heart. Whatever the amount in the jar, it wasn’t worth enough for me to cash it in. No amount was going to be able to pay for the beauty of those silver, gold and rusty copper coins all thrown together behind murky glass.

Today I noticed that I was standing on a huge cliff. I wasn’t just standing on a mountain looking out over the distance, but I was standing really, really close to the edge of a huge drop off. And I realized, this is how life happens.

You spend what feels like forever climbing up to the top of this cliff, and all you’re thinking about is that this is all you’ve ever wanted. You can’t remember wanting anything more than getting to the top. You’re so driven to just get there you can’t think about anything else. But then you get to the top and you hardly even remember all that climbing. It didn’t really seem to take that long, or be that much work. You didn’t even realize you were getting close to the end until you were about to step off the edge and fall. So you look behind you and there are tons of peaks you’ve climbed.

All I wanted was to graduate and get out of town, so I climbed as fast as I could until there wasn’t even a cap and gown at the end. Then all I wanted was to get married, so I dug in and trekked it out until suddenly I was in Alabama. I wanted a new house, so we held hands and climbed as fast as two people can climb together. And suddenly we’re standing on top of this cliff together and I realize I whined the whole time how it was taking forever and my legs hurt and it wasn’t ever going to end… but now I know I’m about to fall off this cliff whether I like it or not. And once I fall, just like all those other ledges, there won’t be any climbing back up behind you.

It’s exactly like standing on a cliff. Like all your previous motion is going to push you forward and off the edge even though you’re not even trying anymore. I can feel the weightless feeling in my stomach and I’m about to plunge to the bottom.

It’s exactly like a cliff, and this is exactly how life happens to me.

I found a diary once. I knew it was a woman’s diary by the small, delicate and precise writing. I knew it was a diary- because only the first page had been written on.

“Memories- often so sweet, always so fleeting- can be pinned to a single sheet of paper… forever”

It was perfect. And it was the only thing written in the book.

I do not wonder who she was, or what she wanted to write. Because I know the woman is me, and her story is mine.

She had taken a ruler to write the words, the bottom of her letters unnaturally cut off, as the straight edge blocked their descent. So much care had been taken to make the first page beautiful. I believe the quote was her own, and she could have filled the whole book with beautiful words. But she didn’t, she stopped on a single perfection.

Sometimes I feel that way, that I’ve gotten out one singularly perfect thing, and that’s as far as I can get.

The person you left here doesn’t make the coffee right. It’s too strong and something else… something that makes it not yours. Come back so we can sit at the table together and talk about nothing with our cheap cups filled with good coffee.

Either way I should have something to write… but I’m feeling a little stuck lately…

I have been to a cemetery on the the southern most point of the United States, both the SouthEastern and SouthWestern part. I saw the graves in New Orleans, Wyoming, South Dakota, Montana and Kentucky. I know where Annie Oakley and Wild Bill are buried. I have felt the power of sacred Native American ground. I witnessed the ghost orbs over creepy Gilberts Grave. I have even drank a bud light on my great-grandmothers catholic grave.

There’s something about a cemetery.

Something about being in a new place and seeing the history all laid in one place. That this specific place is made sacred by their bodies.

I don’t even want to be buried. I don’t want a headstone or a memorial. I want to be cremated. In fact I think everyone in my family wants to be cremated.

My dad specifically wants his ashes shot out of an east facing canon.

My mom wants to be sprinkled on the top of her Harney Peak.

My brother might be considering a pyre.

I just want to be cremated. I want my ashes spread in the places I loved. I saw a movie once where at the funeral each person was given a little bag of ashes they were to throw into the ocean, wishing the deceased goodbye. Creepy? A little. But still pretty awesome. Maybe I should just give all the people I loved the most my ashes and tell them to spread them where they think I would have liked. Where did we spend together that had the most meaning, leave me with the memories there. I have no doubt of those people someone will take me to Harney, someone will leave me at my grandparents farm, someone will leave me at my home, and someone will leave me in the bluegrass.

Rob Montgomery: “The people you love become ghosts inside of you and like this you keep them alive.”

When Wally died I knew I would need another kitty in the house that I could hug and squeeze and wouldn’t try to kill me in my sleep. I also knew I wanted it to be a kitty, that I could train to be cuddly, instead of taking my chances with an older cat. My parents, understanding the importance of this, drove down to visit me towing a fuzzy baby.

I knew the kitty would be orange and decided him advance to call him Cheeto. I’d been receiving pictures from my mom for a few weeks of how cute Cheeto was… and Cheeto 2. Instead of just picking out one kitty they thought I’d like they decided to bring two down, so I could choose. I didn’t really think I wanted 3 cats in the house, so I hadn’t even named the second one.

The week they spent down here I got to hug the little kitties and come to know both the orange one, and pretty calico one. Cheeto and Roxie, brother and sister, became part of the crazy cat clan.

Now that GB is gone Cheeto McPherson and Roxie are the only cats left around the house. Cheeto is our laid back, Wally-type cat. He allowed James to shave him, loving every minute of his massage. Roxie tends to be a little bit less trusting and only wants to sit on my lap when it’s quiet. However they are definitely both lap cats, and love to be snuggled. And like I’ve said before, they’re prisoner cats. I never let them go outside so they’re always safe.