Here we are, more than half way through November, and this is my first post in close to a year. I realized about November 3rd that I’d missed my annual tradition of at least *trying* to blog every day in the month of November.
Life has been very busy and very full. I have a new job that, even though it’s technically part time, has me constantly rushing to catch up. (I’m teaching a course as an adjunct, and basically building the course as I go along. The opportunity only came up a few weeks before the start of the semester. Plus I’m commuting into Boston 3 days a week. And I still have a bunch of research group and community commitments. It’s been a lot.) So when I remembered that I’d missed my NaBloPoMo tradition, I didn’t spare too many wistful thoughts.
But then today is a special day for this blog: Happy 15th birthday little blog! I’ve missed you, and hope we can catch up soon.
It was just this morning that I recognized the significance of today’s date for my blog. And then a little bit later in the morning remembered the other significance of this date. This was the date I lost a dear friend, 14 years ago today. This blog will always be a little bit tangled up with my memories of her, and the grief that sometimes still catches me unawares.
Just this Friday, I found myself thinking of her, through a funny meandering path of thoughts and memories. We have developed a family tradition of having pizza on Friday nights, and I put together a special one to deal with my difficult dietary constraints, and with a bunch of vegetables. (Because I like vegetables.) Theo was helping me prep for the pizza, and was cutting an onion. And as Theo struggled with the burning and watery eyes of cutting onion, I found myself singing the Flight of the Conchords song, “I’m not crying.” (And then I found myself thinking of Elizabeth, who I believe was the one who introduced me to that band.)
“I’m not crying No, I’m not crying. And if I am crying It’s not because of you It’s because I’m thinking about a friend of mine who you don’t know who is dying. That’s right, dying. These aren’t tears of sadness because you’re leaving me. I’ve just been cutting onions. I’m making a lasagna. For one.“
So all of this is why, rather than getting my blog a cake (or reusing a photo of a cake), it felt more fitting to share some sliced onion.
collecting tokens 
My onion cutting and crying tradition is with the Christmas turkey. Cannot do it without my mother’s voice telling me about turkeys past. Luckily the onions cover all.
Good to hear your voice. Sounds fraught. But even if you post once a year, you are still here.