Today's post . . .

features two of my grandsons.

Davis, age 11, has built a computer, using parts purchased with money he saved for the purpose. He told me it is the best computer in their house now, and I believe him. He told me several other things about it, but I did not have enough knowledge to understand him.
Last time I visited down there in Texas, he was making movies on the computer and quite frustrated by its limitations. So he has built his own and is saving money so he can buy an operating system. I'd like to help him.

Charlie, age 3 1/2. Two things:
1. Last week, on a day that happened to be lovely, one the likes of which we hadn't seen much, I said, "It's a beautiful day." Charlie said, "Isn't it though, Grandma."

2. I have an old violin in my basement. It's not a bad instrument, but it has been neglected and suffers from a missing string and a worn out bow. However, Charlie loves it, and when he comes over always asks if he can play the violin. It's too large for him, but someone usually helps him. So yesterday his mother told me Charlie is saving his money for, "Guess what." I said a violin. She said, "No. Tell her, Charlie." He said, "A cello."

April's Face

My calendar shows my son Paul and his daughter Caroline, cheek to cheek. May they ever be so.

She is pink, blue-eyed, and strawberry blond. She looks sweet, healthy, innocent, full of trust in her dad.

He is tan, could use a shave, and has those brown eyes I have loved since his birth. He looks proud and happy. Maybe a little worry there, too. But why not? She's his little girl.

These are two faces I love and from now on will always be April to me.

Blessings of Technology

Last night, a birthday party for Tasha, Michelle, and Patrick. Good food and good people. Can't want for better.

The conversation went, inevitably, I suppose, to Facebook. Ann, Jeremy, Andrew, Tasha, Paul, Patrick, Michelle spoke freely. All complaining, grumbling, thinking one of them should design a new--what?--site or something with a wider range of options. And while I can't quote or give precise attribution, and while I don't know all the apparatus and jargon of Facebook--not having my face on that book--I will try to report. I think the conversation needs reporting.

Andrew, Paul, all, in fact, wish there were options to express disapproval or rejection or even hatred, not of the people but of what they say. (You can't say your exact response, in other words.)

Things that should be replies get into status. (I think I got that right.)

Patrick has let loose of 30+ friends, with great relief, but is afraid some will come back and attach themselves to him again or want to know why he doesn't want them as friends anymore.

I guess the "friends" issue is the big one, as in, "Who is this and why should I be friends with this person?" Or "Why did I say yes in the first place?" (I think.)

After several minutes I said, "So Facebook is a prison." They all said, "Yes," and this with enthusiasm. But they're all back on it today, no doubt.

Can't Pretend

My daughter Ann is reading a memoir by a widow. The book is about life after death, her life after his death.

That's all I know, except that I asked Ann if the book was good. I can't replicate the vocal nuances here on the blog, but her "yes" was modified by her voice down to an "okay." She said she didn't want to oversell the book.

Then, out of curiosity, I asked her this question: If you had to describe life after your dad's death in one word, what word would that be? Her answer: Lame.

I said I'd been thinking: Crappy.

So there it is. And all you who think I should not say stuff like that and that I should "move on," which I am doing as I understand "move on" to mean, and who think that if I'm not happy then it is my fault . . . I'm sorry. That's just the way it is. I can't pretend he didn't die, and it's just there--his death--in, over, and through all my life now.

It's not that I try to think about it, about him. No. I don't have to try. It's not that I'm never happy. I am.

It is that I miss him and wish he were here. It is that I watch married couples and envy them. It is that I am lonely without him. And it is that people in my situation have to be allowed to speak and write their real feelings. Not the feelings that others will be comfortable with. The real ones.