One Year, Already

Today marks the one year anniversary of Peter's death.

We'll make it through.

Peter, I love you.

Thank you for loving me.

Your gifts go on and on.

Your life was amazing,

is amazing.

Thank you for blessing my life

with yours.

I wrote on www.caringbridge.org/visit/peterholthe this morning.

Blessed be.

Kara

Healing Notes

Tonight I went to orchestra practice. I was so tired, and didn't want to go, but routine and perseverence, guilt and good training got me out the door. I had not been able to attend last week's practice, being that I had just returned late on my birthday from the Redwoods. I had a friend/co-worker/french horn player receive the new music and she presented it to me at school the next day. Dark Curly Locks isn't fearlessly leading us for the next concert - I'm sure he has a meeting in Germany or something. So the next guy in line sent bowings via a dropbox on the internet, and notes for practicting, such as: "the sixteenth notes after U in the last movement are probably not playable...." That's encouraging! As I write this, we cellists just received another note from him regarding next week's sectional rehearsal. Well, not a note, but a highly detailed letter, I'd say, with more instructions about practicing. What is cute in this missive is that he says, "Since we don't have to give time to Nick to arrive from Palo Alto, we'll begin at 7:15. We'll work until 9:30, unless Naomi offers us cookies or something, and then we might stay a few extra minutes." Ha! See, food wins over all!

I'm consistently anxious about orchestra, and I did get in some practice this week, but the music for this next concert is very tough. One of the first things the director said as we went through a Ralph Vaughan Williams piece tonight was, "I don't care what notes you play, just play them in the right place!" I can do that! I'm great with rhythm! That tells you the difficulty of that piece, and that comment made me feel a heck of a lot better about myself. So we all slogged through happily, really. Orchestra is the only time during the week that I forget everything, and I'm content and distracted and happy. So this thing I get anxious over, is really a godsend.

So I'll practice some more, and maybe Naomi will serve cookies.

California Snow

Well, I was a bit surprised to see that I've only posted here once in February. You'd think I would have recognized this fact; after all, it is me who is responsible for not writing.

I wasn't looking forward to this month. It used to be my favorite month, but I'm kind of just wanting to get through it this year. I'm OK with that. Even yet, I've been the recipient of all sorts of wonderful surprises and gifts of all shapes and sizes. Friends, cards, notes, presents, new paint on the walls, and this week, snow on the hills around town. Fabulous! (Fabulous when you're in California and just looking at it, and not slogging through it and digging out your car like friends in Minnesota!)

I hadn't seen Robert for a long while, and I finally figured out that I needed to see him. Fortunately, he was thinking the same thing, and I drove up to Berkeley this afternoon, pups in tow, and we went to our favorite haunt on Solano right in Albany - Brit Marie's. Peter and I loved to go there, and Peter also took Robert there, too. It's got a great menu and a changeable wine menu that you can taste by the glass. Robert likes to sit near the kitchen in the back. He says it smells better back there. We get appetizers (today duck pate and topinka) and usually Robert gets the pork schnitzel. If you pay in cash, you get a free dessert. We both picked bread pudding - Peter's favorite.

Broken Glass - Rebuilding Dreams

Driving home today, I made my way off of the highway onto the large boulevard that leads north towards my house. Neatly swept into a pile on the side of the road was bits of broken glass. I'd never seen an organized mound of what certainly was the result of an accident. It looked like a signpost: "Accident here." I sometimes wonder if I have a dark magnet within me that attracts gloomy analogies out of ordinary things, but I couldn't help but think, "That's me. There was an accident here, a trauma, a 'bad thing' and I've been swept up into a tidy pile, but I'm still a pile of broken pieces." I chided myself for this morose thought, but it felt true. It is where I am. I'm looking pretty organized, functioning pretty well, but in pieces, nonetheless.

I was reading a book entitled To Live Again: Rebuilding Your Life After You've Become a Widow (isn't that a beguiling title, just pulling you in?!) The author validated this feeling of loss of identity and the struggle of finding out who you are without partner. I wonder what I will become?