at the end of a year?

Jack, Pepper, and friend

In the New Year . . .

Look back,

Look forward,

Just don't stand there like a statue.

Happy New Year 

be happy, be healthy,

and no matter how crazy your family makes you . . .

remind them all

you love them. 

All the year is Christmas-tide

Warmest wishes

to you and yours 

for a safe and happy holiday

Jack

a large rabbit-hole under the hedge

"I don't recommend falling down an open manhole."

My best friend, would look at me with a cocked eye brow and a suspicious look and ask, "and why would you say that?!"

(Sorta like she did when I commented, I didn't know garden snakes had teeth.")

But, that's another story

Going on, I also don't recommend falling down one in the middle of a woods, where NO one walks this time of year . . . except yours truly.

First good snow, and I would finally get to walk the dogs down the deer path through the woods across the street.  (Too brambly otherwise.)

deer path

and not
much of
a woods

Halfway through the woods, I suddenly stepped into air . . . and dropped.  I found myself up (down?) to my armpits in a manhole--legs swinging, feet finding no foot hold, fingers grasping at snow and and brush.

Scratching and clawing I finally pulled myself up.  As I thanked God, I looked over to see Jack in "full brake" mode and realized I had lost my end of his "flexi lead" and he had no intention of joining it in the "pit of despair."  (As luck would have it, it was not long enough to hit bottom, phew.)

After I dragged myself home, I called the City Public Works Dept., and explained the location of both open manholes, (yes another, only 10 feet away . . . really, I had options).  I figured it would be easy . . . "follow my tracks, when they stop, you are there!"  (There were NO other tracks, anywhere.)

2  hours later a call came requesting I show the guys . . . cuz they can't find em.

Apparently, the "dog walking" thing is what messed them up.  "Lady, people around here don't walk their dogs like this."  (Yeah, I know, out the door and back to poop and pee . . .and that's in good weather.)

2 burly City Workers trailed after me into the woods, they found the buried covers, replaced them, and then trailed after me back out.

My bruises are impressive.  The dark purple crescent moon arcing just under my left trochanter is spectacular.  My right knee is raised black witness to a meeting with the iron rim of the hole.

The right shin has some strange bruises I can't explain.  Raised reddish purple crosswise marks, that my Mother says look like the fingers of a hand print.  Sure, if the hand is the size of a pizza pan.

Alas the act itself must have looked like something from a "cartoon."

 Grace is not my middle name!

show you the way

One year

In a few days, it will be the anniversary of the events that caused me to be here. 

My Father's fall and my Mother's stroke.

what road to take?

There were choices . . .

and this is the road I chose to take.

No one would have judged me badly if I had made another choice.

Steep, curving, and full of pot holes

I do not regret my decision

I knew it would be frustrating, lonely, and financially stressful.  I am not a martyr or a masochist . . . I am a healer, a nurse . . . and as my older Brother told me, "you are the heart of this family."

The times called for a decision

And so it was made, most did not like it, but all understood it.

joys

It hasn't been easy, in fact it is often very difficult. 

Sometimes I feel as though I am not a member of the family. . . instead a servant or household slave, but these are fleeting occasions.

I ride my bike, (Michigan does have nice level roads), I am expanding my job experience, I'm getting to know my Mom as a friend, and I am spending quality time with family I only saw, maybe, once a year before.

Life is about the choices we make,

whatever the reason.