I've tried not to dwell on celebrity news, either in this blog or in life in general, but today was one of those times when it was too much not to pause and reflect. My daughter wrote me in the middle of the day to warn me that I wouldn't like the news, and she was mostly correct. I was not happy to hear that Gene Wilder passed away today, but I was not surprised. The last few times I had seen pictures of him, candid paparazzi type shots, he looked like time had ravaged him. I found myself accepting that his end had come, and I was able to let go with a whispered thank you to him for all of the years of entertainment he has provided to me specifically and to the world at large. He was always one of my special favorites, one of my biggest crushes, and one of my heart's treasures. I've been quoting him and copying him for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, I thought it was terrific fun to act like Willy Wonka from when you first see him in the movie, hobbling along on a cane until you suddenly pitch forward into a somersault. That became one of my signature moves, for as long as my body allowed me to do it. (It didn't survive my teen years.) By the time I'd lost the roll, I was old enough to notice how my heart would flutter whenever the camera focused on that intense blue gaze of his. That move never went away. I know a lot of us feel like our childhoods have died a little today, but I am comforted that I still have every bit of him that I ever did. I have my memories, and I have copies of his movies. He'll be with me forever. I can let him go.
I feel like I've survived a big test of my strengths lately. The fundraiser is over except for the after action reports (both for how well Rotary did, and the report to my volunteer coordinator about how many hours were contributed by my team, and photos for the company website). I went to my play yesterday. I had a meeting this morning with an advisor. And tomorrow I will have my disclosures completed and notarized, and one of my big stressors will be gone. I've spent the afternoon and evening feeling practically giddy. I made it through the other side of the gauntlet with only a few bumps and bruises, plus the one gaping wound (you know the one). Now I can start to look at the things I've put off for weeks, like cleaning and organizing the house, addressing the yard and gardens, and learning how to be an independent adult again. Plus, football. It's time for that again, and that makes me very happy.
I did do far more in the yard than I really had the physicality to handle, but I kept going anyway. I finally wound more string on the weed eater, and tried attacking the rings around the feature plants in the front yard with it. I made it around one and three quarter rings before the battery died, so while that charged, I tried my new claw tiller to try to dig up weeds around the patio. I did that for over an hour, while my roommate mowed, and then I popped the battery back into the weed eater and finished more of that task. I had just gotten to my stopping place when the skies opened and drenched the city for the next hour. By the time I came inside I was profoundly sore and tired, but in the weirdest good mood. We giggled like kids over the idea of having pizza (GF) for dinner and then kicking back in the hot tub, like we were getting away with something. I'm not sure what changed, other than surviving the things that were dragging me down. But as I run headlong into the next manic phase, I find that I can't regret it, or even dig up the slightest bit of guilt for feeling it. It's a day to be at peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment