“The scariest moment is always just before you start.” ― Stephen King, On Writing

I'm pretty sure that somewhere in this blog I've ruminated on how I love this kind of tired, the kind that comes from loving people for a long weekend. The kind of weekend where you cannot get enough of your people, so you forego sleep in favor of endless catching up. You happily swap nutritious meals for sinfully delicious meals and water for dirty martinis. Clean air for a stogies. And if it's a wedding weekend your dirty hippie hemp shoes for some jacked up pumps.

My body aches like I ran a marathon, but it's really from the dancing. But epic, marathon dancing. For this wedding, interpretive dance, which I'm sure was a treat for everyone present. It was...epic. A million years ago, at a bar in The Shire, a person said to a friend of mine "she really gets like...in a trance when she dances huh? She's in her own little world." Yes, I do. Yes, I am. In my own little world. I'm a slave to the rhythm.

One of the most difficult transitions in my life has been the one from "dancer" to "former dancer" and for a while, I was always searching for some sort of outlet for my dance need, some beautiful group of colorful wood nymphs just waiting for me to complete their magical dancing troupe. But one year after another, one stress injury after another, one more kink here and there from arthritis and suddenly I'm no longer even a candidate for my imaginary enchanted forest dance group. I'm relegated to physical therapy rubber bands and a constant parade of new injuries...setbacks.

I hate it.

I feel a teenie tiny little bit of negativity in me, so now might be a good time to get this out of the way:

I'm not going to dwell on the last six month except to say it was my own fault. I let my work life balance slip. I got totally freaked out by the time commitment for a parent of two athletic and active girls. Two "joiners". I let everything that was mine go...just end. Writing, photography, my health. I let crap I hate is mine go too, house keeping, laundry, clean cars, clean body.

I had surgery that almost killed me and it scared the shit out of me. When my brain finds an idle second the memory of that day slams back into my head and it scares the shit out of me all over again. I'm sure I need a little help with this one and as I'm shoving myself back up the priority list, I'll get some. The very fact that I'm writing is progress. Now I just need to pick up my camera again. Fear...I hate it.

I haven't worked out since May 8th. Well, that's a lie. I did once, took off with my girls to train for a 5k and my hip snapped, face planting me into the road. I cried while I waited for my husband to come scrape me off the floor again. I was hurt, sprained knee, sprained wrist, but I can handle sports injuries, I'm not a dainty prissy girl. No, I cried because I can't just up and do things anymore and I probably hate nothing more than that.

I'm back to physical therapy rubber bands and "taking it slow".

I lost two Grandfathers.

I gained two heartbreakingly sad Grandmothers who I just want to bring home with me and take care of.

After 14 months in our new community, I will say we haven't figured this place out yet. Don't know where we fit in.

But...

I also witnessed the evolution of a girl. I watched my homesick Minnesotan slowly embrace some South Dakota. It wasn't so much a full on endorsement of life in the sticks, but the constant barrage of comparisons and negativity slowly gave way to mention of excitement for school, for particular people, for activities. And sure enough, school started and I felt her pull away from me a little. There is nothing as beautifully painful as watching your babies confidently leave you behind. For now it's just here and there, small, manageable tidbits of time and she is home to me again. But this is all just practice for what's coming. X 3.

And the other baby girl, found her sporty spice groove. Right now, she is an athlete and that's wicked cool. A fierce competitor, with almost no idea how to stop working to be the best. There is no balance for her right now, only the constant grind to perfection. I watch her, a proud momma , but I worry and stay close to provide perspective.

My favorite Liam stories for the summer? Easy. His impeccable ensembles, hand picked every day by the man himself.

That's all I have to say about that. That 6 months.

And today I'm exhausted. Good exhausted. Great exhausted. Mind, body and soul. It's been months since I've been completed tapped out by joy.

I love it.

72 hours with my husband's "people" from The Ulm. Everything flowing simply and with such ridiculous ease. And so much laughing. The laughing was so very good.

And in 4 days we have 48 hours with some of my people, my family people. Pumpkin decorating contests, 5ks, parade of lights, babies that haven't seen each other for months. Indian corn and craft shows. Thrift store shopping and a trip to Fiskstal's:) INTERNET AT MY GRANDMAS!!! It's time to get our Pumpkin Fest on.

It's been one million years since our faces have all been together at the farm. That's in sad little heart years. But in 2 short days this farm will be overflowing with all the goods. All the bigs and minis will descend on the family farm and in an instant it will come alive. Once again the families will laugh and sing and eat and shout and frolic and drink. We will watch the sun rise and set here for 3 days.

We will pile on to the already abundant life force this sacred place holds for each of us.

100 years of Wattiers, coming home again and again.