Things just pop up sometimes and you don’t know what to do with them but you don’t want to let them go.

This winter, Joannie shipped a number of things to me as she got Mother and Daddy’s house ready to sell. Ironically, that house has turned out to be one of the things that she can’t let go of. I so get that.

She shipped this large painting to me that was done by a very dear family friend who was instrumental in helping me get through an awkward and miserable adolescence. It is of a pass in the Davis Mountains. It was a gift to Mother, but she didn’t like it. She was the kind of person who hung a print of The Blue Boy when I was a little girl.

I love it and it is now at 1880 where there is not a big enough wall space in the entire house where it will fit. Maybe, eventually, I will take the stretched canvas out of the frame which might make it small enough to hang someplace. In the meantime, it makes a perfect fireplace cover.

Moving on.

A couple of winters ago, these beautiful birches became diseased and and to be removed. It broke my heart.

One winter, John climbed up and covered them with fairy lights. We never took them down. Added giant baubles some years.

I don’t actually weep over lost trees, but I have had my heart broken by them more times than by boys and men.

I knew what tree I wanted to replace them. Dave and I looked everywhere and found a Katsura accidentally at Al’s in Woodburn where Dave was looking for some hanging pots to add curb appeal to his house before putting it on the market. Serendipitously, the kayak trailer was at the ready so we brought it right home and John planted it.

I won’t live to see it to maturity, but it has survived an ice storm and the driest, hottest summer in memory. It always remembers to put out its lovely heart-shaped leaves. Pictures in March.

And some winter randomness popped up from some Facebook friends that sort of document who I am and where I am, so to speak.

It’s Winnie the Pooh Day!

Be like Pooh. I’m printing that out and framing it. It’s art both Mother and I would love.

I liked it that this popped up near Kate’s Adoption Day. I can’t be sure what her feelings are about that day. Being adopted is complicated. But for me, it’s the day I became a mother. I can never think what to send her for a sussy. This year, I sent See’s nuts and chews and Oregon coffee beans. Good, I thought, for another winter of hunkering down.

Very randomly, I was stalking Ari on Facebook recently and saw this joyful picture of his parents. I will always remember her saying about her husband, “He’s a lovely person.” They both are. I give them a lot of credit for the wonderful partner Ari is for Meg.

And finally this.

I’m taking that to mean: Eat delicious things that might not be good for you. Read stuff just for fun that isn’t necessarily edifying. When people do or say things that hurt you, let it bounce right off. Find a balance between being kind and saying what you think. And don’t be afraid to paddle over some rapids, figuratively speaking. Or actually.

Driving across town early this morning to take Dolly for her run, I noticed how much I can see now that the deciduous trees are all bare. All the buildings down town; all the state buildings; churches and the make-shift tents of the homeless. The Golden Man almost blinding in the winter sunshine.

I can see a few things metaphorically speaking too.

I always try to do a bit of personal evaluating with each new year. I have usually moved on from that before it takes hold, but a couple of things are worth writing down.

I really like to live in the present and avoid feeling sad about the past. However, when evaluating, I had to admit how sorry I am that I have not been able to spend much time with my adult children for much of the past twenty-five years. I can see that very clearly.

I think that’s just probably the way it is for many families whose children are happy and independent and choose to move in new directions professionally and geographically. Of course, in my case, I chose to move away professionally and geographically too. For the most part, these have been good decisions for all of us. It just means that I now live in a place I love but not where I raised the children. So this is not “home” for them, and we live far away from each other.

Nevertheless, Katherine and I have spent a number of memorable Christmases together. Elizabeth and I have enjoyed some amazing adventures. And Meg and I had many happy times during the ten years she lived in Oregon.

Besides loving them, I really like all of them and wish I could spend lots of the time I have left with them.

Ironically, some of my friends are alienated or estranged from their progeny for some pretty awful reasons. Like religious or political differences. I’m sure they love each other but don’t like each other really at all.

Anyway, in addition to the things I can see clearly, some questions remain. In spite of my determination to live in the present, of course I am concerned about my future. How long will I be able to stay in this house I love? Where will I go when I can’t live here any longer? How long can I keep on keeping on? I really don’t want to be a nuisance to anyone. I see that very clearly.

A man was here this week putting up some pretty railings on the front steps as the last step in repairing things that were demolished in last winter’s ice storm. He said he thought perhaps I might like to consider putting up only one railing because it could be hard to move large pieces of furniture in or out of the house with two.

Several thoughts came to my mind. None of which I though he wanted to hear.

On another level, I see clearly that I’m not ready to go gray. I’m sticking with my life-long dishwater brown for now.