Life, like the tides comes in and goes out, it rises and falls.
Many things have changed here on Baked Potato Island, and many are the same.
My arms are too short to reach across the world and hold the woman I love.
The galley is set in and soon to be finished out and ready to be kashered for pesach. The new fridge is huge - I had to rearrange things at the last minute but it all fit - sink, new stove, fridge - even enough bench space to have a fleishig and milchig side.
Nigel is asleep at my side, the door is open to the breeze and the sky is a lank blue streaked with light and clouds. He's cleared himself a spot on the shelf above the couch to look out the window and watch the birds on the docks.
The ducks are out and about in their couples and groups, mostly mallards, the occasional buffleheads and some others that I haven't been able to identify - fat feathered flotillas that quack taunts at the seagulls on the rooftops.
This is the month of Pasta as my adopted older brother Eli and I call it - time to clear out the chometz before Pesach. I happen to like pasta, so that's not a problem, but I do have a lot of it to get through! The Mormon tendencies die hard.
My partner has two children I adore, a 16 year old daughter and an 11 year old son. Both of them are bright, funny, friendly, outgoing, hard working - Ms.16 just won an award at school for being top of the class in 11 subjects. She's also a cutter.
I was never a cutter, I preferred anorexia and systematically burning the soles of my feet. My partner was and she's tried to let Ms.16 know that she has done it and get it and is there for her - but all that has gotten us is "Mummy, wake up, I need a bandage," and another round of visits to the counselors and some days off school while her arm heals up.
The latest round of this occurred this past weekend with 2 days of appointments and consultations and stress - they tried to get her to talk, suggested she try ice instead of cutting, she was responsive - and then this morning I get a text saying Ms.16 is in hospital and Mr.Cool is freaked.
I can't do anything from here. Yes, I can listen to her when she gets a chance to text or IM me in between appointments and working and taking care of them - but I can't do anything to really help. I can't make dinner or clean the house. I can't take Mr.Cool to footy while she gets a nap in or tries to spend time with Ms.16. I can't hold her in my arms and tell her we will hang in there and get through it together.