Phase II, reading, rambling, reminiscing, and a robbery

Today was the final inspection on my mama's little addition. As of 4:00 this afternoon we were able to start moving her stuff in, and tonight she's sleeping in there.

I don't know how it's going to be once we move more of the furniture from her house in. I wonder if she will stay in that part of the house -- if she'll consider it her own space. I hope so. I know that might make me seem like an ungracious hostess, but I sorta want to be able to preserve some sense of separation. At least while I can. Maybe for the kids' sake as much as mine?

Her bathroom is so nice. Much nicer than any of the others in my house. I'm a little bit jealous, if you want to know the truth. We still need curtains and there's some touch-up painting that needs to be done, but I feel like we've started a new chapter in this story.

Which makes me think of books. Here's what's on the floor by my bedside bookcase right now:

• Things Unseen by Mark Buchanan --I'm on page 133 and I'm loving it. From the back: "This book is about heaven and yet not. It is about our longing for heaven, our instinct for it. It is about eternity in our hearts. .." I'm having a hard time getting through it, though, because vying for that bedtime reading spot is also
• Mothering Mother by Carol O'Dell -- a daughter's humorous and heartbreaking memoir. I'm on page 39. I got distracted by
• The 36-Hour Day by Nancy L. Mace -- a family guide to caring for people with Alzheimers. I made it to page 27 last night before falling asleep. In the stack that I haven't started yet, but have every intention to, is also
• For Men Only by Shaunti and Jeff Feldhahn. I know I'm not, technically, a man, but I thought the first one (For Women Only) was pretty on target, and I'm curious if what they're telling the men about us women is as accurate. I may not get around to it any time soon though, because I probably really really need to read
• Learning to Speak Alzheimer's by Dr. Robert Butler -- a groundbreaking approach for everyone dealing with the disease

I feel so certain that these books contain helpful information for me, in one way or another. Information I should have -- that would benefit me hugely. It's frustrating that I can't get them all read RIGHT NOW. If I'd go to bed at a more reasonable hour, I might have a better chance of doing more than a half hour of reading before sleep overtakes me. I've tried reading with my eyes shut, and I'm pretty good at it, but I've found the retention rate drops off sharply.

Bedtime's also the time that I journal, and I'm backlogged with that, because I am currently trying to keep three -- one for Lily and Tessa, one for James, and my own. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Much the way I started keeping a separate photo album for each of my kids when they were tiny. It worked out swell, until I had more than two kids.

It's hard to keep up with recording my life when it's been all I can do just to live it properly. And not always succeed even at that.

I'm a little bit sorry that Brooke left. I think she'll be fine, though. I will buy her album when it's released. I've always been a fan of that genre -- that Carol King/Carly Simon-y vibe.

I've also been a lifelong fan of Neil Diamond. His was the first concert I ever attended, back when we were living in Laramie and he came to the fieldhouse at the University of Wyoming. I was in 8th grade at the time, and I remember it like it was yesterday.

Hang on -- it's a trip in the Way Back Machine.

My bff and soul sister Carree Cunningham and I had huge crushes on him. When I spent the night at her house we would put on "Tap Root Manuscript" and listen to it over and over as we went to sleep. It's really an unusual album -- one side is all African music ("Soolaimon" and "I Am the Lion") and the other side has "Cracklin Rosie" and "He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother." But we loved it. It was one of the greatest joys of my life when I discovered it on iTunes years later. All those good times just came crashing back. And I was in musical, sentimental, bliss.

Anyway, we went to the concert and waited around afterwards hoping against hope to get an autograph. We waited and waited and waited until the place was empty, but he never came out. My parents were frantic, because we hadn't come out of the fieldhouse and they were sure we'd met with foul play, and they should have never let us go alone at such a tender age.

What I did get instead of an autograph was the cup of water he had taken a drink from while he was on stage. I carried it carefully home and poured the water in an empty peanut butter jar. When Carree would come to my house we would take out the jar, think how his mouth had touched the water that was in there, and swoon.

After a while some fuzzy green mold began to grow on the inside of the jar and I had to throw it away, but I've continued to treasure the memory of it in my heart.

So yeah. Neil Diamond week? Two thumbs up for me.

But two thumbs down to the little punks who broke into the locker room. If anyone happens to see a pair of size 12 white Nikes on eBay in the next week or so, please let me know. Garrison had his stolen out of his gym locker at the high school today. He is so upset, because they were new; he bought them (with his own money) in Nashville over spring break. Apparently nothing is sacred.

Which is why-- yearning for heaven? Yes, ma'am I am.