I have been planning to start to write on my blog in December as an homage to my mother's decline in health and the time we spent as a family taking care of her. But I realize as we approach Thanksgiving that this was really the beginning of her decline. She took off from work and was unable to return. I felt like yesterday's early celebration was in a way a celebration of the things my mother taught me in the kitchen. Sort of like a little offering in her memory.

I have – of late – been obsessed with a computer simulation game. Mendon can attest to this- I’ve been playing it every time he calls for the last couple of weeks. I am a farmer. In the game the farm gal loses stamina faster when completing tasks if she hasn’t gotten good rest the night before. I came home from work and tried my hand at an afternoon siesta. I don't expect sympathy - but rising at 6:30 has never been natural for me. I was in great need of rest. As I lay in bed thinking about my farmer gal I realized that my life was just like the game. I wanted to go and get stuff done- but if I kept going I would lose stamina faster… and get much less accomplished. It’s weird when life imitates video games. Frankly – it means I’ve been playing so long that the game has become my dominant concept of thought.

This letter inspired me to do some more job searching. My favorite source- Craigslist- supplied me with hours of sorting and e-mailing. I think I will be able to get in on some well paid (this is relative) tutoring and a private school that pays subs better than the one I have been working for of late.

It is hard to wait long enough to allow the substituting to push me into a full time position. I still need a second medical form attesting to my good health before I can work in the puublic schools.

After a deep search into the working world I cleaned up a space in the basement and drew a picture of my mother from a photo. Soon I will begin to paint. It is not fabulous - but I think it is recognizeably a photo of Stephanie. The really hard part will come in getting the lighting right. Well - the next hard part. The drawing was also difficult. Especially the facial features.

I have made some friends here, we have a built in social network through Eric's department. Plus Alana is here and My cousins are nearby as well. I am significantly closer to my dad and sister.
The town has character and I like it. It seems that I will be able to substitute close to home easily - and hopefully often.

From my back windows - in the reading room, bathroom, kitchen and dining room I have a view of the funeral home next door. I see the families dressed in sombre attire, the hearse, the parade of cars with flags, the street parking meters covered - reserved for the funeral. They seem to host a funeral every few days. Infrequently enough that I am not overwhelmed by death in Pittsburgh. Often enough for death to remain my companion. I am drawn to the funeral home. But what would I say? I've thought it over many times but don't get any farther than "My mother died in January..." I want to crash a funeral - What do other funerals look like? How do other people grieve? Who is dying , and why? The question that haunts me "Why am I dying?" And the pragmatic answer that haunts me too, "You have cancer." Haunts me because it is true, and yet a meaningless answer.

On the plus side I can sleep with my closet door open these days . This is progress.

First our loan fell through at the last minute(4 days before closing). We found a new lender and are renting until we close - theoretically next Friday. Today we got a call saying our second round of earnest money had been lost in the mail... Everything has been resolved but- wow!

So - Eric and I are off tonight to see a Pirates game and then we'll be biking along the C & O canal up through the allegheny passage. It will be lovely to get away from humanity for a bit. Next time you hear from me I will be a home owner... if everything happens properly...

I have, as an adult, gravitated to these familiar shows.
And now, I've got tickets to go to a live performance of
A Prairie Home Companion. I'm looking forward to this
day. I'm planning to bring a picnic dinner while we sit on
the lawn and I will bask in memmories of my mother.

I am of the nothing. I am the nothing. I am coming for you.

So now I am recording mundane facts about my daily life. How long did I sleep. what medication and food have I ingested. What have I read and what were my impressions.What work have I accomplished.

I am not writing for therapy, for memory or someone's voyuerisitc pleasure. It is a daily reflection, like meditating, that makes me slow down, breath, live. It helps my brain.
It seems like information that might someday be useful when I go to a doctor's office, or want to remember what I thought about that book - but largely it is here and now, a personal daily reckoning.

I try to explain that this is a hatchback. She looks at me quizically.
"It's a lot like a trunk" I explain.
"oh, I like your trunk"

I gave up. it's not a compliment I'm used to - but one can accept from a toddler.