I am more than a little disgusted with myself for my lack of blogging lately; partly because of course I know you all are hanging on my every word (oh barf, did I really just say that?) but mostly because my head gets all wonky when left to its own devices, with no real outlet. I have to admit that I have gotten sucked into the Facebook vortex a little bit the past few days, but that really has very little to do with my lack of blogging.

The thing is, how do you blog when the the things going on are not your stories to tell, when you are a participant but only on the fringe? How do you blog about the troubles someone else is having, and how it affects you on a personal level, without telling parts that they don’t want you to tell?  There really isn’t a way to do that. 

So instead I write about the way the rain last night caused a shower of yellow and red leaves, layering themselves on the top of my car like some colorful autumn blanket.  The maple leaves are as big as both my hands put together, brown and red and damp on the road like a particularly spectacular carpet. Someone had a fire going last night, so the smell in the air was damp and smoky and reminiscent of every autumn I have lived, the smell of comfort and of the portent of good things to come.  Soon there will be soup in the crockpot and the taste of fresh pumpkin and the crisp, cool days will make my blood tingle with something akin to anticipation.  For what, I don’t know, but this time of year always makes me feel as if anything is possible.

I write then, too, about how my village has all banded together once again to help one of my children, and how absolutely blessed I feel today to acknowledge how much this village has grown.  The reminder I keep getting, over and over again, is that I don’t have to go through anything alone unless I choose to.  There are people who love all of my children and who will go out of their way to bring comfort and healing and guidance however best suits them.  There are people too who love me, who are there to support ME, and I have been blessed too with one particular and unexpected shoulder to lean on.  I don’t know what will happen in any arena of my life, either tomorrow or a year from now, but I am so grateful to have this village today.

I have so much to say, but also so much to pick through and process through that I am not sure where, really, to begin.  So instead, I will leave you now with this:

Aubry at Four Weeks

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11 thoughts on “

  1. I’ve been thinking about you and your family, and figuring that you have a lot that you’re juggling.

    So glad you took the time to check in here with all of us.

    I hope things are going well for all of you.

  2. She is just beautiful and I would love to nibble on those cheeks. So jealous. It sounds like things are going well, and I am with you on Autumn– The possibilities are ENDLESS. I am always thinking of you, and it’s so nice to have you check in! 🙂

  3. I’m feeling the support of “the village” lately too, and am so thankful for it. Thanks for stopping by and saying hello, Kori! I’m wondering if we’re living in/blogging from the same neck of the woods? (Idaho/Montana)

    Enjoy that beautiful baby! Love how babies remind of of all that is good in the world…

  4. I feel the same way about fall..anticipation. I miss you, I’m trying to come back to your blog more often. Life has been too busy for me but your writing still means a lot.

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