the coast

the coast was nice. i'm back.

travels (long and short)

i'll be at the coast this weekend. i'll see you when i see you.

laughs

the show the office makes me laugh. i love that show.

visiting my grandparents

i was working in pixley yesterday, so i stopped in tulare on my way home because i felt like visiting the gravesite of my grandpa and grandma (my dads parents). my grandma died before i was born, so i never got to know her. and my grandpa died about a year and a half ago. every once in a while i miss that this grandma, Bobbe Jean Wise, wasn't able to be a part in my life. but i overthink many things, this included. like that if my grandma had lived, my dads life might have taken a different direction and i may not even be here today. and on and on. but i wish i could have known my grandma. my grandpa, Clifford Duane Wise, was a good man and i loved him. i wasn't as close to him as i could have been, but thats my fault because i'm not as close with any of my family as i feel i should be. i'm sure this is common, but since they are not here to answer my questions or give me advise i feel that there is so much i wish i could get from them. one thing i'm sad about in particular is that i never talked to my grandpa about my grandma. my grandpa remarried some five to eight years later, so i grew up knowing a different grandma and never felt comfortable bringing up Bobbe with him. i wish i had, partly to learn about her and partly for something else.
so i cried at their gravesite. but it was out of selfishness. i was sad that they weren't there for me. to help me and answer my questions and give me advise. i do miss them, but yesterday i cried for me. sometimes tears bring relief or healing or peace, but these didn't. these were tears of loss and sadness and regret. they were tears of realization that they couldn't help me, and that i'd have to figure out my life and my problems without them.
but it was still good to visit their gravesite and say hi and tell them that i miss them.

a poem i've always enjoyed

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.