Crumbs

Not much time has passed since I last posted...and with so little to say. Words flow freely in my mind, elegant and witty, pleading to be placed on the page, but when my fingers hit the keys, that which only moments before seemed so eloquent, has vanished. It is quite unfortunate.

I have returned so quickly to offer some explanation for the peculiar title of this blog. It is quite peculiar, is it not?

Let me begin by noting that I seek meaning. I love when seemingly independent elements are found to be woven together, ever so intricately. This is my life right now...seeking the stitches.

All this to say that the title of this blog is not at all random...not in the slightest. And yes, it holds far greater meaning to me than the act of feeding ducks, however deliciously whimsical that very act might be.

My grandmother, Nana, passed away this past summer. It is the strangest sensation to lose someone. It is nearly indescribable. As I work through the mourning process (which seems only to have just begun), I find myself yearning to find remnants of Nana in my life...crumbs.

I sat on my bed this afternoon, legs crossed, having somewhat spontaneously decided to begin a blog, but with absolutely no clue of what to name it (or what to write about). I could not bear the thought of titling it rashly, with no consideration of significance. Surveying my room, I sought something that might yield a meaningful title and found nothing. A "Breakfast at Tiffany's" poster, a jumble of clothes on the floor, a vase of yellow daisies...

Then it came to me; suddenly and for no apparent reason. Nana. A glimpse of a moment we shared when I was only a few feet tall and nearly bald, because my curls hadn't grown in yet. There we stood, in the backyard of my grandparents' beach house, overlooking a narrow canal. Nana was still round then, wearing shorts and a long white t-shirt, chunky gold earrings, and her long, delicate gold chain. We tore slices of bread into beak-sized pieces and threw them to the ducks gathering nearby. (Apparently you aren't supposed to do that anymore, but it made for great memories back when it was entirely innocent.)

I smile when I think of that. I smile when I think of her. Of course, there's always that twinge of pain...that hollow in my chest feels all the more vacant whenever I reminisce. I hear that such wounds heal; that the emptiness fills with the joy of moment once shared.

The joy of feeding crumbs to ducks.

Here we are...

Never before have I written a blog. Ever. And to be entirely honest, I'm not at all sure of where this could possibly be going or why you might be interested in reading it. But it could be great. I suppose you'll just have to wait and see.