
Author: approximately
Cleansed

I hadn’t planned anything for today, but for timing, it’s as good as any.
The new year has dawned and this iota of a grain of sand in the world, this blog (do people still call them that?) is alive. Not dead, alive, sleeping. And in this reawakening I recognize that today is, in fact, not as good as any, it’s better. That somehow I knew, and serendipity guided me to this page on the 17th birthday of approximately, and the inaugural post I wrote from my dorm room* in 2008, titled Cleansed. Yes, this blog has it’s driver’s license and will be voting in the next election.
So awake we are, and significantly: this is my 2,240th post. A number that is not inclusive of the 4,134 unpublished drafts hanging in middair — a time capsule of feeling, forever in editing.
And a notable comment on that first post, from my dear friend Javen:
when einstein was just a young man he was at a lecture by a leading physicist of the day and the man said that they were pretty much wrapping up all of the theory that there was to physics and that in a few years there would be nothing left to learn in the field but, einstein persevered and because of him the realm of physics has had some of its greatest breakthroughs ever. So, basically jenny, just never give up there is always something new out there, something to explore, something to touch, to feel, and to see. As you always tell me just keep on keepin’ on.
Welcome back, and thanks for walking beside me for so many miles.
Through nearly every year in my adult life, and the deepest moments.
Something tells me, this year we should be here.
Keep on keepin’ on. See you soon.
*I was an RA at the time and had my own double room. Two beds, closets, and desks all to myself, it was pretty sweet.
I can’t end this without talking about the photo here. I took it in my parents’ backyard a few weeks ago, at 8:13am. All was calm and quiet after days of snow. These beautiful moments, I etch them in my mind.


Still I think of his laugh. I think of his tennis shoes. I think of him helping me build a race car out of a mousetrap. I think of the day as a child when he took me north, near the small North Dakota town where he was born, and we spent the afternoon searching for arrowheads in farmer’s fields.
And his presence at the head of a table, and his command of the dishwashing post-meal. The blocky, font-like handwriting on his notes and blueprints and the way his Levi’s fit.
Twenty years gone today, this man I love and miss deeply.
Edmond Chester Leonard
29 May 1935 — 27 December 2003







