Five years ago today, hubby’s grandfather died.

Four years ago today our son, Thomas, was born.

Since waking this morning, I have thought about what I was doing four years ago. Laundry. Breathing through contractions. Trying not to get too excited because I am notorious for having long, epic labors with a lot of starting and stopping. I was buckling in for the long ride but not expecting very much out of December 16th.

He was born at 9:54 pm after a day of anticipation, tears, pain, joy.

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We wait. We drum our fingers and check the dial tone on the phone and lie awake. Life is either making news or waiting for news. I waited for my children to be born. Our families waited for the news of their births.

When my Grandma Mary took a turn for the worse a little over two weeks ago, I had to wait to hear how she was doing and what was happening. It didn’t look good. All evening I jumped when the phone rang. I went to bed, but didn’t sleep. I got up in the morning, showered, and called my mother, who told me my grandma died around midnight, which I later learned meant 11:58pm on December 1st.

I look at Tommy, our new four-year-old. He runs around the house with his new balloon from Red Robin. Up and down the stairs with his brothers, banging toys and slamming doors. I hear a pop and wonder if the red, green, or purple balloon met it demise. I wait to hear a cry from one of the boys. The cry will tell me the color because the color tells me the boy. But I hear no crying.

Tommy comes around the corner and says he feels “just a little bit sad.”

I ask why and he says his balloon popped.

I know how you feel, I think.

The balloon was green.

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My dad’s mom, who will be 90 in January, is lying in a hospital bed 20 minutes away at this moment. She had a stroke. Family is travelling to Denver from the corners of our state to see her. My parents went through five tunnels to get here. I am here with my little boys at home. The pins and the needles hurt.

Like I said, life is either making news or waiting for news.

I feel a little bit sad.

Laura, of bluestocking fame, asked how I knew the ostriches were mean.

Kannah Creek is a milestone on US Highway 50 between Grand Junction and Montrose. It consists of a half-hearted ranch which once billed itself as a zoo. One would have to define “zoo” as “place where a few ostriches, a monkey, and some llamas are displayed in a big dirt yard.” Because Grand Junction no longer had a zoo of its own and we were craving some entertainment one summer day, my mom drove us to Kannah Creek. I was about 10 years old.

I received a postcard from someone in the mail that day and was so thrilled I took it with me in the car.

Safely at Kannah Creek, I decided to visit the monkey first. It was housed in a birdcage-shaped metal enclosure with vertical bars. Unwisely, I took the postcard with me. The monkey reached through the bars, took my postcard, and shredded it into little pieces. Stupid monkey.

On to the ostriches.

We approached their turf, which was bordered by a fence. Immediately, they took notice of us. Perhaps they wondered if there was anything left to swipe right out of our hands and destroy. Maybe they noticed we had eyes, ripe for pecking. They were not happy so we started jogging down the path next to the fence to get away. One of the ostriches was very menacing and started running at us, flapping and kicking. I knew it couldn’t fly. I hoped it couldn’t leap over fences.

As it ran, it had to cross a very shallow ditch with a trickle of water. The ostrich stepped on the bank of the ditch, slipped in some mud, and crashed spectacularly to the ground with a giant thud. We were stunned. Animals weren’t supposed to be clumsy and have embarrassing moments. The ostrich scrambled back up on its legs and we scrambled away. Our visit to the Kannah Creek zoo lasted about five minutes. We never returned.

On trips to our grandparent’s house, I would look out the window to see the ostrich, until the ostrich were sold or disappeared or killed whilst rushing to terrorize other visitors. They are no longer there. But the pen, the creek, the house, the globe willow tree still stand.