Sleeping dog, quiet
morning. How can she do that?
Wish I slept so well.

I’ve been watching the calendar all month, dreading this day.
One year ago, my brother David died very suddenly. I opened the blogathon with an essay inspired by David and about the time I spent at his house after his death.

But this entire month, a knot would come in my stomach when I knew I’d have to mark this date.
The details of the morning I learned of his death are etched into my memory. I had just pulled into the parking lot at my daughter’s school. I had to pick her up for a doctor’s visit. I remember the exact parking space. The day was gorgeous.
My phone rang and caller ID said it was my mom. “Hi, Mom! How are you doing?!?!”
I answered with fun, with enthusiasm.
“Not so good. David died last night.”

I lost it. Lost it. Shouted. Pounded the steering wheel. And knew I had to pull it together to get my daughter and get her through the visit.
I remember standing in the hall in front of the school office, waiting for her to come, leaning against the wall and quietly sobbing. Someone came and guided me to a seat. All I could say was, “my brother just died.”
I made an eight-hour drive to my mother’s house that day, to the house we all grew up in. I spent the time on the road alternately crying, angry at the wrongfulness of it, talking to friends and family to get me there. The next weeks were filled with memories, a trip across the country, a memorial service, family and lots of questions.

I think I can say the pain is less 365 days later. The heartbreak is the same. I miss him more now than I did then. It’s still every bit as wrong as it was 365 days ago.

And this from a message I wrote last May 31:

Things I’ve loved this week!! Enjoy your Saturday.

Here I learn about the life of a literary translator (and think: I want to do that!!)

Peter Shankman’s Open Letter really was touching…loved it.

A funny, cute post-it note prank gets seniors suspended and the adult janitor who supervised them FIRED. That’s some crazy overreacting!

I found this article on cyber security by Shelly Palmer chilling. We had better be paying some attention.

Happier stuff. I occasionally revisit this video of a murmuration for some magic. Watch it.

Around the world in one-second clips:

And one more! A Nike Make it Count commercial…Love it.

Last week I turned out these two copies…the originals are in pastels and gouache; mine is all watercolor. In case you need help, that’s a grapefruit on the left, a pomegranate on the right.

See what I mean? I do pretty well with FOOD.

I wanted to add this lovely little piece of Bermuda chimney, too…this I did all by myself, not from a photo, not a copy of another painting…

Over the weekend, I found some frames at a church sale, so I am busy getting the photos up and finally getting some color on these white walls…

While I am enormously proud of the fact that I am a triathlete, I can honestly say that the most fun and joy and passion I’ve found in the past year has been as I danced tango. Tango gave me a cool thing to do with my husband, gave me a new group of wonderful friends who love to dance tango as much as I do and can teach me along the way, took me to Buenos Aires for 10 days to tango until I was exhausted and introduced me to my first pairs (that’s right, plural: PAIRS) of finely made tango shoes, stilettos made just for dancing. I am especially in love with the purple pair (looks blue above, but trust me: they are purple)..

What do I love about tango? When I have a strong leader, it’s a connection. It’s trust. It’s a willingness to follow where he will lead. With my teachers, who are just fabulous dancers and fabulous leaders, I’ve found myself dancing with my eyes closed, chest to chest (in tango, this is a close embrace), following them wherever they lead. They make me look fabulous, too.

This much I know: I dance with my eyes closed, a smile on my face and joy in my heart. I’m not young or old or worried about anything. I am just happy.

This second act? This is one that will be with me for the rest of my life.

Here’s what YOU should do. Google tango in your town. Then show up. Show up and dance.

And if you happen to be in Charlotte, NC?
Google Passion for Tango. And get a dance with Daniel or Bill. They will make you love this dance.

So. “One” hits 50.
But one feels, oh, I dunno. Eternally 26? But the mirror, the scale, the clothes, the eyes (oof, the eyes!)..they pretty much convince “one”: You are SO not 26 anymore.

Two years ago, when I was 50, I did the usual medical annual exams. I was heavier than I’d ever been. For the first time, my blood pressure wasn’t something to brag about. A colonoscopy (TMI? Too bad.) had benign polyps–that was my third or forth colonoscopy, since my dad died at the age of 50–from colon cancer. Cancer that first showed up when he was 40, if I recall correctly. But it was the FIRST time I didn’t have an “All Perfect” result.

And I like perfect.
It was, frankly, a wake up call. Use it or lose it. If I was heavy then? I’d probably be even heavier if I didn’t pay attention. Watch what I eat the way I used to. Move more.

All that coincided with a commitment to swim on a relay team for Paul’s Posse (read all about it here)–the relay team was doing the NYC Triathlon, and I volunteered to swim.

In the Hudson.

I did that swim. And about 2 hours after swearing “never again,” I was high five-ing teammate Dakila–we were both going to do the whole thing the following year.

Which meant one thing: I’d have to run. And I don’t run. But Couch to 5K got me to 30 minutes of running. The same approach got me from 5K to 10K. I continued to eat well. The weight dropped off. I bought a sweet, sweet bike and rediscovered my love of biking. When I finally jumped in the Hudson River for the second time, I had dropped about 50 pounds. I had worked out with a personal trainer and I was in the best shape of my life. That year’s annual was just the way I liked it. Zero problems.

Now I call myself a triathlete.

Maybe all our life we get second acts. It’s up to us to take on the role.

What have you done that’s new? Different?
 (Tomorrow’s tale continues with Second Act: TANGO!!!

 Sometimes the big things seem to really get me down. That’s when the small things matter most.
This year, with a small outdoor balcony (last year I had a door I could open for fresh air, but no space), I’ve got a grill, a table and chairs and, now, planters.

Herbs come first. I bought oregano, dill, thyme, mint, basil, marjoram, cilantro, chives and parsley (flat AND curly)…Then I saw the seed packets and I planted peas and beans, chard and Brussels sprouts (I kid you not, I LOVE the sprouts)…

And then? THEN I saw lettuces. I had to have them. I bought 12 tiny seedlings, transplanted them immediately and now I get at least a salad a week from them. And when the lettuce bolts? Well, that’s the box that holds the beans and the peas, and I’ll fill in with more.

I cannot tell you the pleasure I get from going out with some scissors, cutting off the biggest leaves, tossing in some dill, basil and cilantro and having a salad.

It’s the small things that give me comfort when the big things bug me most.

Well, naturally I have an affinity for anyone who writes an app about kitchen disasters and, far more notably, how to FIX said disasters. (See her bio for the link to the app)
Charmian is funny, a great writer and obviously, a great chef.
And a great blogger friend for being today’s guest poster!
Her bio:

Dip your toes into some warm water on pink sand….

As with last week, I’ve collected things I loved that I found while stumbling around the internet this week. Some may call it procrastinating, but I call it meditating.

I watched the Cheerleading Dad at least three times. Cute and great message.

A beautifully-written piece about a woman living with ALS 

This is making the rounds–A commencement speech about things the author wishes HE had been told on Graduation Day.

Jen Miller reminds us that there’s nothing good about acting the Damsel in Distress.

Gabriela’s Specatucul(un)ar Moonwalk Around the Globe

Another blogger linked to this blog, Southern Fried French. Southern Fried French Fun.

Roxanne Jones, a writer from my FLX board, reminded us this week: And remember what Maya Angelou said about when someone shows you who they are, believe them. 
I never heard that, but love its simple truth.

Monica Bhide mentioned Wicked Noodle and this lovely, lovely post. I’ll start following her. (Oh, I’ll follow anyone who uses the phrase Wicked Noodle! Pasta AND cool? I’m in!)

Really like Caitlin Kelly’s Broadside post about The Art of Conversation.