I received a nice little note in the mail yesterday from a reader/friend I’ve never met. It said, “I’m glad I know you!” Thanks Valancy Jane. She’s not from
I have to say I love the friends I’ve made through this little blog. I’ve met people from all over and I’ve been able to keep in touch with old friends without ever having to pick up the phone. I feel kind of guilty about neglecting y’all lately. I keep meaning to do better and the next thing I know another day has gone by and I haven’t written a thing. This whole falling in love thing has really thrown me for a loop.
Besides the note from a faraway friend, I also received a lovely email from and even lovelier friend from high school. (Hi Mo!) Last month I found a rather upsetting email from her husband letting me (and everyone else) know that she had been diagnosed with Small Lymphocytic Lymphoma. Incurable cancer. I spent the next 24 hours sobbing on Oscar’s shoulder. I can just barely talk about it now. This girl, sorry – woman, is perhaps the sweetest, most loving person walking God’s green earth. It breaks my heart to learn this is happening to her. It’s not fair. It’s not right. And even if she’s dealing with it just fine, it still pisses me off. It just doesn’t make sense, but there it is and all we can do now is send her our love and pray. Pray hard.
I bring all this up now because even in the middle of dealing with something so awful she took the time to write and tell me how much she enjoys my blog and say “You’re a great writer!” Which, of course, made me cry all over again. But it made me realize, even if I have lost interest in blogging like a mad woman all day long, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to really stop. My blog has taken on a life of its own and each year it grows and changes. Lately it seems to be more of a blog about me than about Bakersfield, so I guess I owe it to you out there – my friends in the Internet - to tell you about what is going on with me.
My son turned 18 on Saturday. Oscar made him a card for me to give him that read “You’re the man who ate my baby!” That’s how it feels to me sometimes. I did not give birth to a big, hairy man. I had a chubby, little baby that turned into the cutest, sweetest little boy you ever did see. I don’t know what happened after that. Despite both of our best efforts he grew up and now I have to stand on my tip toes to kiss him on the cheek. And kiss him I do. As often as possible. And tell him I love him. Sometimes I feel like Paul is the only thing I’ve ever done right. He is practically perfect in every way. People who know me shake their heads in wonder how that kid could be mine. I wonder sometimes too.
Five days after my son was born I turned twenty-two years old, which means (if you’re any good at math - and I’m not) that I will be forty years old on Saturday. Yes people – the big FOUR OH! My sister, who is six and a half years older than me, couldn’t be happier. I’m not sure why. I’m really not too bugged about turning 40, except for the fact that I have to tell people I’m 40 now. Thirty-nine just sounds better. Although I have to admit, I wasn’t quite so comfortable turning 40 a few months ago. Now Oscar and I are together and the future doesn’t seem so scary anymore. Paul put it best when I told him I was getting married - the timing couldn’t be more perfect. He’s going to be leaving for college soon and I was not looking forward to being so totally alone.
Then again, I guess I never really was all alone anyway. Thanks friends – I love y’all.
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