You know what's amazing to me...how we can adapt to our circumstances. Some of us, I admit, never do, but with hope and 'gutting it out', we CAN find ourselves back in some sort of rhythm. Case in point: Just a few short years ago I spent my days 'playing' with retired people. These were not your normal retired people. They played hard everyday, whether it was huffing and puffing along side of them in boot camp, or hiking through breathtaking landscape.....they never let any grass grow under their feet. My time with them and our short lived stay in gorgeous Utah taught me so much and as time goes on, I find myself still learning. But those lessons are for another blog(s). I have to say the first six months in Texas was grueling. I had to put away my workout clothes and done real 'work' clothes. No more leisurely getting up, reading the paper, having my quiet time, puttsing around until it was time to go and play with people who had earned the right to play. My morning's were no longer met with Skully and Nacho kissing my face saying 'get up, get up, we gotta go potty pots and we're 'criken' hungry.' Alarm clocks blaring, thoughts of 'what appointments' do we have today, along with choosing what to wear and having to take a shower in the morning (not @ 4:00 p.m. after boot camp), and then wear MAKEUP.....ugh! I thought I wouldn't make it. At times, I shut down. Only the 'hub' knows how bad/hard it was for me. I love him for that...and more. I remember our first sales appointment...two days after we arrived in big ole' Texas.....surrounded by boxes and it was raining like nobody's business. The woman insisted on scheduling the appointment @ 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning. And peeps, when your livelihood depends on sales....you go. I didn't make it out of the apartment without crying. Crying so hard, muffled into the 'hub's' chest that my freshly applied mascara was all over his clean white "Budget Blinds" shirt and he had to change. One more pep talk "you can do this Tami" and out the door, into the rain we went. All of our samples were still in boxes that we had thrown into the back of our van. We hadn't had anytime to get organized. Huddled under a small umbrella, we swam to the door, laughing hysterically. It was to rediculous not to. "Knock Knock"...."Whose there?" "Budget Blinds." "Who?" AYKM!!!!!!!! Adaptation.....it sometimes comes so amazingly slow.....and then one day you wake up and say "I'm good with all of this." I will end with this.....the 'hub' always knew it was what was best for me. Unlike me....who blabs all that I feel, think and know.....@ times the deepest of deeps....the 'hub' has always held his cards close to his chest, only to reveal them in brilliant fashion. I will never 'adapt' to that part of him and I'm good with that too!
Putting closure to 'things' is important to me. My sisters, Dani Jo and Lori,her daughter Callie, the 'hub,' Katie and Tim traveled to Wise River, Montana to spread my father's ashes in the river he and I fly fished together for the past 6 years. It was our way of putting closure to his passing. I've tried to write this many times. I can't seem to find the right words to pay homage to my father and the legacy he has left deep inside of me. I am more like him than any of my siblings. I believe they would stand behind that statement. He was a corker. Larger than life people seem to leave larger holes when they leave this world. As I stood in the places where he taught me how to cast my line, build a good campfire, love and respect the wind, and scorch a great hot dog I felt the hole like never before. We stood in 'the meadows' and each of us drew a handful of William Gerald Mathison, tossed him into the wind that took him below to the rushing waters of the Wisdom River. His ashes were pale and a stark contrast to the grey, clear water, however, in death as in life, he was constant and could be seen until the next bend in the river. When we were finished....we each had his 'dusting' on our clothes. He was always a presence, sometimes.....a painful one....only because he loved deeply and never seemed to be able to make the transition from father to friend. I believe in order to understand the person before us, we need to care enough to learn who they were before us......RIP my precious dad.