So dark. Darker than usual. Must be clouds.
I put some bacon in the oven, brew the coffee, and wash dishes. Almost two weeks without a dishwasher which is too long when there are 5 people in a home and you make every meal from scratch. But we are remembering the therapeutic benefits of hand-washing. It’s become a meditation.
I try my best to make the braid. I am sure it will be undone by the time she comes home from school.
Rain. A real rain. I thought they meant just a drizzle, but this is coming down hard.
Next time I know not to take Greenville Road. Never take Greenville Road.
He opens the door for me and drives us out of the gate and to the cottage. He tells me that he was in the hospital with his son over the weekend. I look at him in the eyes and say, “But how are you doing?” He starts to cry and tells me that he has to be strong for his son. I place my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t have the words. Or maybe there are too many words. So we just look at each other and maybe that’s enough for this morning.
How do we make room for grief when life must go on? What happens to us on the inside when we exhaust ourselves trying to “put on a brave face”? Where can we go and feel as though we can safely express our true feelings in the midst of it all? How do we make sure that even complete strangers know that someone cares?
I offer to take him to the library before we pick up his older brother. We put the windows down. I’m so ready for this weather.
I text to make sure she’s okay. She says she is. I might be oversensitive to hurt feelings among friends. I might be projecting. Everything is fine. I love that they found a way to play softball in the park, just the four of them.
I just want everyone to go to bed now.
I wish there was more time for laughs over coffee and scrambled eggs.
I think of the interesting ways in which relationships shift as we age. It seems so strange to be talking with my uncle, adult to adult. I like how it feels more like being friends.
I miss the ramp. Google didn’t say to head right. Now I will be late. Okay. Only a few minutes.
She lets me go through the pre-check line because the plane is actually already boarding. I am grateful for that. Not as grateful about the bag check. Also not grateful for the gate change, nor the incorrect directions to the new gate, nor that I now have to check my bag because I’m so late.
He asks me how I’m doing once I sit down. It softens me. I thank him for asking.
So grateful for the Lyft ride. She is so quiet and she’s playing all the John Mayer. I sing along softly from the back seat.
The heat is a shock after four days of 60-something degrees.
I feel like I fail every birthday but she does say she’s happy. I believe her. I can see the twinkle in her eye. Maybe one day I’ll get the hang of it.
Just needed one more day.
The color of the light as it illuminates the corner by the window.
So cold I don’t want to get out of the bed but I know it’s time to get up. I also don’t hate it.
I put on the turtleneck and then take it off. I put on the thermal and then put the turtleneck back on. That should be enough.
I decide to crash Ann Wood’s class because she’s Ann Wood and there are very few people I fangirl over but she’s one of them.
Twigs, evergreen leaves, dead oak leaves, a strip of bark covered in moss.
I tell her that I try to ask more questions. There is a feeling of spaciousness that occurs when I shift from “I think…” to “I’m curious about…”
I think this going to be good. It will be good. I like that I can be here and serve in this way.
She shares a can of local IPA with me and we chat about all the things. I watch everyone’s hands deep in their work.
I wrap my scarf around me and walk out to the dark to listen to the water. The lake looks dark and deep. The mountain (hill) to my left seems larger today than it did yesterday. I realize just how small I am.
Who knew one could feel so competitive when playing a friendly game of BINGO?
I will miss our long talks. But I’ll see her again in just a few more weeks.
The coolness of the air.
The creak of my feet against the cabin the floors. Something soothing about the sound of it.
Instant coffee and water and journal on the dock. The pale yellow light of the sun obscured by the cloud cover.
The way the body feels when rains are coming.
I remember that it’s about the process. But it only takes a one simple phrase to open me up: “You will make mistakes today.” - Teri Dautcher
The magic of the physical act of making. Fatigue, but the kind of fatigue that one experiences from being so involved in your work and the mind stretching.
To come more than 2,000 miles to eat a meal with someone who lives only 70 miles away from you is a little funny and yet seems perfectly normal and ordinary and right in this case.
The sound of feet shuffling along the path. The click of walking sticks against the rock. Muffled voices.
Wine in solo cups, sitting beside the fire, in conversation but also noticing uses of language, privileges. Trying to unsee pictures of Howard Hugh’s nails.
So much light. I think I’ve slept longer than I intended to.
I go over to the window and see a sliver of the water, it’s surface rippling from ducks? wind? Who knows. I wonder if she stands here and stares at it like I am doing now. I can imagine one would spend an inordinate amount of time fixated on this view.
French press coffee and grapes and toast and scrambled eggs. We talk about everything and I love it and it makes me wish we weren’t 2,000 miles apart from one another.
Also, it’s possible to have real relationships that being in a virtual space and transcend into something real and safe and life-giving. I’m grateful for that.
I stop at the grocery store and find what I need. I grab a bottle of Louis Jadot Beaujolais-Villages and a bottle of Wente Morning Fog. Who would have thought I’d find either in the middle of New Hampshire?
The landscape isn’t as striking as I remember and that just might be because now I live in a place where I am constantly moved by the natural beauty. This beauty is different.
Familiar faces. Still a little nervous.
Waffle cone with vanilla ice cream and rainbow sprinkles.
Thrumming with possibility.
Absurdly excited for instant coffee on the dock.