Life: Idiotropic

I've had a difficult time focusing on this blog lately. Not because there isn't anything going on. The kids continue to grow and do amazing things that make me burst with both laughter and pride. My life continues to bless me with opportunities and people, events, and bits of culture. And, of course, I still have some absolutely amazing trips to properly post before I start off on any new ones.

Really, truly, it will come. I need to do it for myself and my children as much as anyone else. But this is a season of mixed emotion.

Many of the current happenings here are tainted with good-byes. I don't like good-byes in any form unless, of course, it's a swarm of ants or something. Unfortunately, these aren't ants I'm saying good-bye to. These are my best friends. People who have given me the invaluable gifts of friendship, memories, and laughter. So in every party and celebration that we attend now, there's a precious friend who's leaving, one who will say good-bye with the hope and intention of staying in touch, visiting again, and continuing the growth of a friendship. I do hope that I am diligent enough to keep those friendship alive.

And then there's grandpa. When I was a little girl I wanted to learn to speak Hungarian so that I could talk to Omi, my great-grandmother, but she passed away before I learned even a word. This last year I kept getting busy or for some reason, put off writing about the many trips we took. When I did write about one, I would get a nice note with a poem and some family photos from my grandfather who would thank me for the "email" and praise my writing ability. Grandpa wrote and painted. His praise holds immense value to me and now it's gone except for the pile of precious hand-written notes I've saved

Last time I saw grandpa he asked when I would send another "email." Soon, grandpa, soon. And now it just doesn't matter - as much. I never blogged my trip to Austria - grandpa's birthplace - or Spain, a place he'd been. Or Brugge...

I will continue. There is importance still and I do want to get my memories down before they fade, but when it slows, and when I take these pauses... it's sometimes just too hard. I can't write about any of those trips from last year without that tinge of regret that my grandfather will not be able to read them. And I see so much of him here in this continent where he was born... memory is bittersweet.