Some Days I Write Just To Write

I am so curious about some of you who read this journal! I feel like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland — WHO are YOU? Or maybe like The Who, “Who are you, who, who, who, who?”

I am a compulsive stats checker, and most of the time I can figure out who’s who either by their IP or the link that they follow to get here. But some of you are mysteries… and I obsess over mysteries! Who are you? Why do you come back? Don’t get me wrong, I’m very glad you’re here, I’m just not sure what brought you here in the first place (though Google really seems to like me) or what makes you come back. Whatever it is, I’m glad you check in. Even if you never say hello, it’s nice to know you’re reading.

I’ve been doing really well with working out and eating well. The scale has resumed the downward journey (6 pounds down) and I was able to do things this week on ::start Ah-nold voice:: The Reforma ::end Ah-nold voice:: that I couldn’t do last time I went. And my PT appointment went well this week too, when I remembered to show up — there is nothing more embarrassing than losing track of my appointments, and I have done it twice this week, both in conjunction with exercise (coincidence?). Luckily, both my friend and my trainer are the forgiving sort.

In news that will satisfy any revenge fantasies my mom had when I was Gabrielle’s age, I am now officially ready to cut off her legs and/or put her in a full body cast to keep her from flipping all over my goddamned living room. Tonight I found myself sternly telling her “If you want to do gymnastics, then march your little butt out into the front yard because gymnastics are not performed in the living room!” Then I grimaced, because yes, I sounded just like my mother.

I was hugely into gymnastics at 8. In addition to “flip-flopping all over the house” (Mom’s term), I had a coffee table in the front yard of our house in Hayward where I would do vaults, saluting an imaginary judge’s panel. I worked for weeks to do a front handspring vault off that little table. It was a small victory when I did it. I also choreographed floor exercises out there, and we had a short brick wall, which was pretty darn close to the width of a beam, so you can guess what I did there. My poor mom yelled constantly. Now I understand why. Gabrielle, unfortunately, does not do a good job of estimating the reach of her limbs, so we have broken furniture and several near concussions of innocent bystanders. I am paying, in spades, for my upside down time on the couch, Mom. You should be pleased.

Today Gab brought home the yearbook from school. When Jasmine died, one of the staff members at her school asked if they could put the dragonfly story with her picture in the book. Of course we agreed. It turned out beautifully. There were also three or four other pictures of her spread throughout the book. In each of them, she was smiling — this is such a difference from past years, when in most pictures Jasmine would, at best, look uncomfortable. Smiling didn’t come easily. And yesterday her teacher came over and told us her class is engraving a bench in the butterfly garden with her name — I have just been overwhelmed with how wonderful her school has been. So it felt like another gift of the year — that as sad as I am that it ended, at least the year she had prior to her death was good. At least she smiled and had fun in the classroom. I am so glad for that.

Happy Anniversary, Mom & Dad!

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