The housewife has been gone for a while.
The artist has vanished from lack of interest.
My companion in housewifery, my mother, has died.
There will be no more trading of laundry stories over the phone with her at 8:30 each morning. No more updates of her neighbors doing naughty things. No more deviled eggs. Damn.
Now I am full of (mostly) good memories, encouragement from others, and condolences. There is no room for sarcasm and scathing remarks right now.
(And, yes, for those who have been reading both of my blogs -- you've probably put those dots together now.)
I'll be back soon when the outside world has made me roll my eyes one too many times, or when the inner turmoil has settled down.
The inner sarcastic housewife (and artist) is still here somewhere, waiting to get out again.