Beginnings

It's chilly and humid here in the finished basement of my mother's house. I came to visit as quickly as I could when her health took a sharp and sudden turn for the worse. She'd been battling breast cancer for the last eleven years, with the last five years in stage four. She died on Sunday, surrounded by her children and a handful of her grandchildren. For the last several days, the house has been abuzz with activity: five adults catching up, cooking, joking, and planning for a funeral, and a grundle of teens and pre-teens making the most of their summer, running in and out of the house, slamming doors, watching movies, playing loudly with other kids from the neighborhood, and filling in life where adults overlook by habit or design. Most of my family have gone back home in preparation for her funeral. The smell of recent laundry and this morning's coffee tell the story of a slightly more lively house than the quiet and shadowy place from which I write.

Here I am, not quite alone. The sounds of my keyboard are accompanied by occasional rustling, as my sister sorts through mom's effects... curating the best memories and reminders of an eccentric and secretly crafty woman who would have turned 70 this year... seeking the meaningful from a wealth of disorganized keepsakes, art supplies, and thrift. Somewhere, a fan has been droning endlessly from before my arrival a week ago. As I think about what I'd like to write, I glance occasionally at the sage and white wall opposite myself, lit only by the gentle grey cloud-and-plant-filtered light creeping in through uneven blinds on a basement window. It's been uncomfortably hot lately in this small desert town in the middle of Utah, and the impending downpour (if I can call it that) is welcome.

I've missed journaling. Honestly, I shouldn't miss it as much as I do... not to suggest I shouldn't miss something I haven't done, but that I should be doing it often enough not to miss it. In my career as an Archaeologist, I've been encouraged to write my feelings at the end of each day, as well as writing about the work I've done, the places I've surveyed, the features and artifacts I've found, the landscape, and the time I've spent with my crew(s). Throughout my career as a student, I've received similar advice. I just haven't really done it, except for time spent both as a student and supervisor for field school.

I find myself on Vocal after seeing advertisements on Facebook for the "Runaway Train" writing challenge for the last week or two. I used to love creative writing, and I'm sure that if I pick it back up, I'll still love it. I won't participate in the challenge, though, as I'm not ready to pay for a Vocal+ membership. Maybe in the future.

For now, I'm entering a transitory period of my life. I've recently submitted my Master's thesis, and am applying for positions with the government and in the private sector. My mother just died, and I'm preparing for her funeral. My grandmother died in February of this year. Lastly, providing what might be the greatest impetus for change I'll experience, my wife has informed me that she wants to dissolve our marriage. I hope my journaling doesn't reflect only the bitterness with which I navigate this last change.

I'll use this platform to do some journaling and maybe some short stories. I hope something in my style strikes a chord with you, dear reader. I've never known quite how to sign off with journaling, so I guess I'll leave you to it. Until next time.