Sunday, 23 March 2008

Someday bunnies will rule the world.

A little post on a quiet Sunday morning. I'm ready to roll but the kids don't get in until late afternoon. I'm not going to church, and the boys are all still asleep. I always have you, internet.

Well, I don't, but you rang my doorbell, I can't possibly have you going away empty-handed now, can I?

It's gorgeous here today, the sun is shining, the snow is melting rapidly now. My lawn is at least ten percent bare. There is no snow on the roof of the garage that I can see from the old master bedroom/Ruth's room or the turret, though there is snow on other people's buildings, still. I think it will be a painless thaw and a long, beautiful spring. The boys keep telling me there are buds on the trees and that geese are coming back in droves (or is that gaggles?) but I try not to look up at Jacob's sky.

I believe that Sam has all but given up on me. Our connection is broken, there is nothing to tie us together past his obligation to Jacob. August is slightly different in that regard, one of the few people that was able to swallow his professional opinions or allegiance to Jacob and become my friend easily. Joel couldn't manage it. Joel is gone (officially, permanently) at the end of this week from the rumors I hear. He calls every day still, without fail and I let my voicemail listen to his different approaches. One day he'll be quietly bitter, the next is a pretense that everything is fine, the next is a plea to just talk to him, that day followed by apologies and efforts to take his actions back. I just file them away in a mental cabinet that I will let the dust settle on until it is forgotten in history.

Yes, that's fair. I didn't just take. I was the only person Joel ever talked to about his agonizing divorce. I listened right back. I gave as much as I got. I owe him nothing. I'm going to owe him even less once he fully understands the gravity of choosing sides with Caleb. It's the most graceful way I can let him go.

As for Caleb, he does not call every day. He calls around twice a week and is well-versed in telling my recorded voice exactly what he needs to say. He's clipped and professional and rarely warm about it. It makes me laugh. There is no grace in dealing with him, I'm just trying to figure out how we went from passing all the cards back and forth to this new vaguely familiar standstill we wait at presently.

And this morning my wake-up call confirmed what I hesitantly mentioned last night. Yes, there are ten days left. Nine now, and promise. It'll be okay.

Easter for me has always been a starting-over point. This year will be no exception.