Once again, after taking a hiatus from writing here (and, alas, writing in general), I feel a bit tongue-tied. That's what happens when I take a break. It's like living in a new city and knowing only a few people, hiding away and being quiet for days and then showing up at the grocery store and running into an acquaintance. Talking at a time like that can feel canned, like you're listening to your own voice and wondering whose it is.
Where do I start. Ooh, I want to dive right in but instead I think I'll take a more meandering path, by starting with the fact that this fall here in Seattle has been a wrinkled experience. Unlike my sentiments in my last post, I have settled into the reality of not going to the park with Cora and running three miles in the sun on a daily basis. Still, I remember the summer enough to be sad about having to say goodbye. I really miss running. It made me feel happy, and strong, and incredibly motivated. I've also become more accustomed to the rain and even willing to listen to people explain to me why they like it. I especially like listening to it at night, drumming on our rooftop and windows and reminding me how content I am in this house while Cora dreams in the room next door.
I've been cooking a lot more, too, which is characteristic of this time of year. I've made a fair number of soups. Chicken soup, noodle soup, chili, tortilla soup, vegetable soup. And roasted vegetables, tamale pie, lasagna, enchiladas, noodle casserole, baked mac 'n cheese and quiches, salmon and potatoes.
Oh, and amazingly delicious gluten-free bread based off this awesome recipe from Gluten Free Green Mommy. It's really good and worth the long list of flours and baking agents.
We've been using the oven a lot more and it reminds me that it's one of my favorite ways to cook. Right now I'm thinking about diving into the world of sauces--white sauce, brown sauce, reduced sauce, balsamic, mustard, curry. Sauce.
All that cooking would lead one to believe that all I've wanted to do is eat, right? But no. I've been mainly dragging through the days, dealing with a fondly remembered phase of life, one that involves feeling tired and sick in the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. Sound familiar? That leads me to the big news: I'm 11 weeks pregnant and aside from a yucky cold, I'm feeling much, much better. I just read that at 11 weeks the baby is the size of an oversize lime or a plum. How cool is that?! That's the reason I haven't written; I haven't had anything else I wanted to write about but every time I sat down to talk about being pregnant, I remembered there were still a number of people who didn't know, and it seemed unkind that they'd find out on my blog. So I'd delete the post, log off, and take a nap instead. There are still a number of people who don't know, but since this forum is meant to be very much of a diary for me, I've decided not to worry about it so much.
Eleven weeks. We decided to have another baby, and then I was pregnant. I felt pregnant pretty much immediately, and took a pregnancy test six days before my period was due. I will never forget reading the results in the morning and shrieking out to the kitchen to hug Brian, then Cora (she had no idea why, but she was excited nonetheless).
As any seasoned parent knows, being pregnant the second time around is fairly different. I'm certainly not seasoned, though; it's a new world to me. For one thing, I've just been a heck of a lot more tired. Keeping up with Cora, carrying her, hugging her, chasing her, tickling her, cooking and cleaning, and doing it all day long while feeling close to vomiting is more physically tiring, for me at least, than it was working at a full-time office job. However, I do get to take afternoon naps, which has been luxurious.
Also, this pregnancy has been more physically challenging in other ways. I've had spotting and cramping, which can be more common in a second pregnancy, particularly an active one, and there have been days when I have been so tired I haven't known how to approach the onset of another day. I haven't been running and the early-morning writing I loved so much has been nixed for obvious reasons (the notion of rising at 5:15 sounded about as lovely as eating a dirty shoe, and anyway I can't drink all the caffeine necessary to make it work).
Luckily, my all-day sickness started to wane at about 8-1/2 or 9 weeks, which was much earlier than it was with Cora. And, lo and behold, we've seen the heartbeat of our new little bean. There is nothing more miraculous, me thinks, than the image of a tiny person in my abdomen, lodged there cozily, with a beating heart. I've reentered that stage of going for a walk with my small family and suddenly realizing that there are four of us present. Disbelief still reigns sometimes, and June 18th feels like a long time away, but as my faith has grown that this little person will, indeed, be sticking with us, I am getting more and more thrilled to think about the things to come: butterfly movements, an ever-growing belly, elbows in the ribs, kicking and turning, and silly food cravings that must be met. More than anything, I am looking forward to dreaming about who this little person will become, what its little hand will look like against Brian's, and how it will be for Cora to hold her sibling for the first time.
For now, I am trying not to think (too much, at least), about the sleep deprivation and 2-hour feedings, the challenging world of nursing an infant and trying not to fall asleep while entertaining a 2-1/2-year-old, and all the roller coaster rides associated with becoming a bigger family. That's why it takes nine months. Plenty of time to get as adjusted to and prepared for the idea as possible.
Meanwhile, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. You'll find hundreds of gratitude lists online these days. I have deleted this list several times because it feels embarrassingly narcissistic to yammer on about my life in a list (because, ultimately, I'm not going to list things beyond my own personal microcosm). And also because the list somehow sounds a bit like the dedications I made to people my Senior year in high school. However, I'm stubbornly keeping it here for the sake of posterity. And because it fits with the premise of this blog--to be openly thankful, and to dream. So, I am joining all those other online lists sending my gratitude up to the sky to mingle with yours and season the months and years ahead.
Gratitude for:
*Cora's hands, her wit, her sensitivity, her bright eyes and mind, her nearly-2-year-old response of "No!" to nearly everything I ask, her desire to party with her animals all day long, and her ability to dance and jump at the same time.
*This new babe in my belly, working so hard daily to rapidly divide its cells and become a PERSON.
*Brian's love and patience, his depth of creativity and his ability to work hard on anything he sets his mind to. Especially how he manages to come home smiling every single day and be funny and silly and sweep Cora up in his arms and give her a huge hug. He's making memories for Cora every time he does it, and I love him dearly for that.
*The ability to have choices in how we construct our lives right now.
*Brian's job. I am so grateful that he loves what he does, that he has found a good company to work for, and that he lives out his dreams in small and big ways each day.
*This house. I like the way the living room feels at night when we wrap our feet under blankets and read books or talk. I love tucking ourselves into our bed and listening to the wind and rain.
*My family, immediate and extended, especially for my mom and sis who live nearby and are so invested in being close.
*My friends. I miss many of them and wish we saw each other more often, but I love following their interesting lives and seeing where our paths intersect.
*Our collective health. This has been an odd health year for Brian, Cora, and me, but I think in many ways it has been valuable. It's helped me to focus on the power of the mind and the importance of being positive, the relative strength of the human body, and the ability to repair oneself.
*The ability to fill our refrigerator with nourishing food, and to know there are friends who will join us to eat, celebrate life, and fill our house with laughter and giggling children.
*Last, but not least, the enduring interest in writing. The book won't be done by the end of this year, but I know it's still there, waiting to be written. I'm thankful the idea is percolating and willing to wait.
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Monday, December 15, 2008
Questions
We have a few friends who definitely have executive decision-making ability. Most of them are actually executives. Two that we know of, in particular, are so good at being decisive that I cannot imagine them questioning anything. And if they ever do wallow in a place of cognitive unrest for a tiny second, I'm sure one of them is schooled enough in the art of retrieval to quickly rescue them both from further descent. Not B and I. We are most comfortable in that hellish place called total indecision, that little place on the side of any country road called a muddy ditch. There we thrash about from side to side, lost in the muck and weedy tumult, and neither of us have the capability to do anything except drown. If one of us finally does figure out a way to throw in the towel and extract us from imminent and total implosion, we have to finish the whole thing with "That's what we're going to do. ....Don't you think?"
Yesterday (Sunday) was Cora's 1st birthday. We had been looking forward to that day for a year. It's just so symbolic to look at this person that you built with labor and sleepless nights and milk, from a tiny warbling infant into a rounded toddler with ideas and attitude. So we spent Saturday see-sawing between too many commitments (indecisive people have a tendency to spread themselves too thin, never being able to say No in a timely enough manner), and found ourselves up at 11 washing our floors and cleaning our bathroom in preparation for her party, while snow started to fall outside.
We awoke to three inches and an icy road, which under normal circumstances would have been thrilling but on Cora's birthday was actually rather heartbreaking because we knew it meant we'd probably need to cancel the party. I didn't take it very well and was grumpy all morning. When we finally decided to cancel the event, we then spent the next three hours wondering if we'd done the right thing. We'd peer outside at the road, thinking maybe we should call all our friends back and say, "Whatever you're comfortable with, we'd love to see you," and we'd decide that's what we were going to do until one of us would counterpoint. Meanwhile, our beloved birthday girl was trotting down the hallway with books, toys, and little gifties, or screeching at us every time we came near in the hopes that we'd get started with a rousing game of indoor tag.
We were ignoring our daughter while trying to decide how best to celebrate her. Let this never happen again.
I think our executive friends would have looked outside and said something like, "Oh, isn't that nice, a snowy day for our little one's birthday, how memorable. We'll throw a party and see who shows up. " End of story.
The point is, we didn't have a birthday party and we were very sad. Instead, for a variety of reasons entirely beyond our control, we ended up with a small family gathering that included a TOTAL stranger, a man I had never met nor heard about before in my life, someone who gave off weird vibes and looked far too directly into everyone's eyes despite a tendency to seem cloaked in obscurity.
Understand, of course, that I don't know this man and he is, after all, a human being and possibly a very nice one. I just didn't like him. Possibly just because he was there.
There is a whole litany of reasons behind why this felt so unacceptable to me.
I am trying to determine what balance I will follow for public posts such as this. I think for the time being I will remember that said stranger and family member might at one point discover this blog and so I will proceed with some decorum. It just wasn't fair, is all. I don't think Emily Post would ever allow such a decision to be made. No, she would advocate that logical thinking be used, hearty peppering of self-inquisition before carefully deciding to NOT bring one's own guest. In fact, I am sure if I pull out her guide it will say something precisely thus: Do not bring total strangers to small children's birthday parties, especially weird ones, and in particular to parties that are bungled and snowed-in.
What we would have preferred is to have taken Cora out for a snowy adventure and let the various people who offered to visit just stop by without being afraid of whether or not the stranger would scare them away.
I realize how uncharitable and ungenerous in spirit this sounds.
We did have a few visits from great people, including our very good friends down the street who brought their 18-month-old daughter and a lot of laughter and levity to the afternoon. People dropped off flowers on the porch for our baby. And the neighbors trooped over with their 5 and 7 year old boys, bringing with them a giant stuffed lion with an impressive mane, and additional cupcake eating ammunition.
What remained at the end of the day was a combination of love, joy, and simmering anger. And a very tired Cora. She seemed to have a perfectly fine time despite being tired and run down from a long week. She ate her chocolate cupcake daintily, and opened her gifts by tearing off strip after strip of wrapping paper from each package. She danced to her birthday CD brought by her loving auntie, and she was absolutely surrounded by lots of love all day, even if her mom and dad were stressed.
We didn't sleep well last night and I thought today was going to be a wash. But for a number of Polyanna reasons, I am finishing today feeling quite grateful. They are as follows:
I have a husband who understands me. This requires no additional explanation for anyone who has ever dated, lived with, or been friends or family members with someone who does not understand them in the way they need to be understood.
Today, Cora allowed me to spend nearly an hour talking to a dear friend this morning while I enjoyed the only kind of therapy session you can have with a woman you've been friends with for 13 years.
I realized with such clarity yesterday that our friends down the street are so cool and grounded, they are exactly the kind of people you can just be yourself with, dirty laundry and all.
I was able to remove the ghostly feeling of life having gone amuck, and Cora and I went for a walk in the snow and saw the world all lit up. She got to lie down in the snow and taste snowflakes, and seemed so pleased about the whole thing that she ate a huge lunch and slept for almost two hours.
At the store, she helped me shop by referring to my grocery list and pointing to items on shelves.
My neighbor scraped all the snow off of my car windows because, he said, "It's hard to do it while holding a baby."
I roasted my first chicken and B and I had the most relaxing dinner together while talking for over an hour.
About two years ago, a longtime friend of mine visited during a time when I was really depressed, when my job was awful and my life felt completely off kilter, and she told me to start a gratitude journal. She said, 'Even though it might feel difficult at first, or corny, just start writing about what you're grateful for, even if all you can be grateful for is a pair of socks.'
It's amazing how that list has grown and grown, and how life has changed. I think my gratitude, my husband and my daughter and my friends, have created a strong enough gravitational pull, like my own planetary body or giant star, to remedy disappointments and crazy-making moments, even ones that feel too big to conquer for a long history of reasons.
And I am so, deeply, endlessly, to-the-moon-and-back grateful for that.
Yesterday (Sunday) was Cora's 1st birthday. We had been looking forward to that day for a year. It's just so symbolic to look at this person that you built with labor and sleepless nights and milk, from a tiny warbling infant into a rounded toddler with ideas and attitude. So we spent Saturday see-sawing between too many commitments (indecisive people have a tendency to spread themselves too thin, never being able to say No in a timely enough manner), and found ourselves up at 11 washing our floors and cleaning our bathroom in preparation for her party, while snow started to fall outside.
We awoke to three inches and an icy road, which under normal circumstances would have been thrilling but on Cora's birthday was actually rather heartbreaking because we knew it meant we'd probably need to cancel the party. I didn't take it very well and was grumpy all morning. When we finally decided to cancel the event, we then spent the next three hours wondering if we'd done the right thing. We'd peer outside at the road, thinking maybe we should call all our friends back and say, "Whatever you're comfortable with, we'd love to see you," and we'd decide that's what we were going to do until one of us would counterpoint. Meanwhile, our beloved birthday girl was trotting down the hallway with books, toys, and little gifties, or screeching at us every time we came near in the hopes that we'd get started with a rousing game of indoor tag.
We were ignoring our daughter while trying to decide how best to celebrate her. Let this never happen again.
I think our executive friends would have looked outside and said something like, "Oh, isn't that nice, a snowy day for our little one's birthday, how memorable. We'll throw a party and see who shows up. " End of story.
The point is, we didn't have a birthday party and we were very sad. Instead, for a variety of reasons entirely beyond our control, we ended up with a small family gathering that included a TOTAL stranger, a man I had never met nor heard about before in my life, someone who gave off weird vibes and looked far too directly into everyone's eyes despite a tendency to seem cloaked in obscurity.
Understand, of course, that I don't know this man and he is, after all, a human being and possibly a very nice one. I just didn't like him. Possibly just because he was there.
There is a whole litany of reasons behind why this felt so unacceptable to me.
I am trying to determine what balance I will follow for public posts such as this. I think for the time being I will remember that said stranger and family member might at one point discover this blog and so I will proceed with some decorum. It just wasn't fair, is all. I don't think Emily Post would ever allow such a decision to be made. No, she would advocate that logical thinking be used, hearty peppering of self-inquisition before carefully deciding to NOT bring one's own guest. In fact, I am sure if I pull out her guide it will say something precisely thus: Do not bring total strangers to small children's birthday parties, especially weird ones, and in particular to parties that are bungled and snowed-in.
What we would have preferred is to have taken Cora out for a snowy adventure and let the various people who offered to visit just stop by without being afraid of whether or not the stranger would scare them away.
I realize how uncharitable and ungenerous in spirit this sounds.
We did have a few visits from great people, including our very good friends down the street who brought their 18-month-old daughter and a lot of laughter and levity to the afternoon. People dropped off flowers on the porch for our baby. And the neighbors trooped over with their 5 and 7 year old boys, bringing with them a giant stuffed lion with an impressive mane, and additional cupcake eating ammunition.
What remained at the end of the day was a combination of love, joy, and simmering anger. And a very tired Cora. She seemed to have a perfectly fine time despite being tired and run down from a long week. She ate her chocolate cupcake daintily, and opened her gifts by tearing off strip after strip of wrapping paper from each package. She danced to her birthday CD brought by her loving auntie, and she was absolutely surrounded by lots of love all day, even if her mom and dad were stressed.
We didn't sleep well last night and I thought today was going to be a wash. But for a number of Polyanna reasons, I am finishing today feeling quite grateful. They are as follows:
I have a husband who understands me. This requires no additional explanation for anyone who has ever dated, lived with, or been friends or family members with someone who does not understand them in the way they need to be understood.
Today, Cora allowed me to spend nearly an hour talking to a dear friend this morning while I enjoyed the only kind of therapy session you can have with a woman you've been friends with for 13 years.
I realized with such clarity yesterday that our friends down the street are so cool and grounded, they are exactly the kind of people you can just be yourself with, dirty laundry and all.
I was able to remove the ghostly feeling of life having gone amuck, and Cora and I went for a walk in the snow and saw the world all lit up. She got to lie down in the snow and taste snowflakes, and seemed so pleased about the whole thing that she ate a huge lunch and slept for almost two hours.
At the store, she helped me shop by referring to my grocery list and pointing to items on shelves.
My neighbor scraped all the snow off of my car windows because, he said, "It's hard to do it while holding a baby."
I roasted my first chicken and B and I had the most relaxing dinner together while talking for over an hour.
About two years ago, a longtime friend of mine visited during a time when I was really depressed, when my job was awful and my life felt completely off kilter, and she told me to start a gratitude journal. She said, 'Even though it might feel difficult at first, or corny, just start writing about what you're grateful for, even if all you can be grateful for is a pair of socks.'
It's amazing how that list has grown and grown, and how life has changed. I think my gratitude, my husband and my daughter and my friends, have created a strong enough gravitational pull, like my own planetary body or giant star, to remedy disappointments and crazy-making moments, even ones that feel too big to conquer for a long history of reasons.
And I am so, deeply, endlessly, to-the-moon-and-back grateful for that.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
All sorts of small changes
Before I decided to quit my job, I had accepted a promotion that would have involved more hours. In order to make it all work out in my head, I had decided that we needed support. At the risk of sounding like I think pampering is just a way of life, I still feel like I need to outline the extent of what this change would have involved. We were going to have a full-time nanny. I was also thinking it would be awesome if the nanny would be willing to prepare dinner once in awhile, and clean up after Cora. Now, of course, the goal of having a nanny was not to have additional household help, it was that Cora would get undivided attention. That said, it started to sound pretty tempting to have someone organize our disastrous cupboards and vacuum once in awhile, even do dishes and laundry. So I realized that in order to save our relationship with said nanny, we would need to hire housecleaning help. And, because our yard is in total disarray--leaves everywhere, weeds overtaking all beds--I thought, well, we should hire someone to help with that, too. In my mind, it was the only way to keep sanity alive in a household of two working parents, both of whom would need to work late probably more often than we cared to admit. Suddenly, however, when I listed it out in my head, it started to feel like I was going to farm out all the everyday work tasks of life so that I could sit at a computer and make money. (I know there is a lot more virtue to working full-time than making money, such as building a career, keeping my resume alive, bringing in my own share of the income--but that is for another post on another day). It also began to feel like we should live in an estate, rather than our humble little house.
So, one of the new daily parts of our lives is for me to do all the things I was thinking I would pay someone to do.
I went grocery shopping a couple of days ago and started really trying to find ways to save money. Things are obviously a lot tighter without my income, and I've figured out exactly what we can afford each week. And I know perhaps this might sound odd to some people, but one of my favorite things to do is to go grocery shopping. I love filling my cart with a whole bunch of yumminess, picking out a new sauce or chocolate or wine or microbrew. We go to Trader Joe's at least once a week. When I was shopping at TJ's this last time, I realized that I often gravitate toward more prepared foods than I used to--like frozen cooked chicken and jars of simmer sauce, granola bars and hummus and roast turkey and ice cream. And the cart would literally be filled to the gills with goodness, but I wouldn't know quite what to fix when I got home and it was all unpacked and sitting untidily in our kitchen. Aside from the obvious health benefits of cooking more of our food from scratch, I have been feeling more and more aghast at the final bill and now, of course, is an important time to reign things in.
I grew up in a family that put a huge focus on whole foods, to a neurotic extent. At one point my family's diet/lifestyle was defined as organic, sugar-free, vegan macrobiotic, which, as you might imagine, narrowed things down considerably. I didn't eat meat until I was 22. When we used to go grocery shopping, the really expensive stuff we sprung for were things like imported seaweed, organic aduki beans, almond butter, yeast-free organic bread. And then when I was in college, I lived on a college budget and was literally able to leave the grocery store with enough food for a week for around $25. I actually loved to buy frozen veggies (boring ones, like cut carrots and peas and corn and lima beans) and heat them in the microwave and put salt and pepper on them. Then I started living with my now-husband and discovered how tasteless and limiting my grocery list was, so I started buying a lot more interesting foods and eating out more--and growing to love it. There were weeks when we lived in Pasadena when I'm not sure we cooked at all. Now, I'd like to go back to the source. I want to buy bulk foods and soak and cook beans from scratch, make whole meals out of dry ingredients and marinate poultry for a day before cooking it rather than defrosting it in the microwave before hurriedly serving it up. I want to bake bread and make cookies. Things that take time. This morning I baked a big kabocha squash, a ton of yams, and apples and pears. I made Cora a pot of creamy squash soup and I might try making her some yam and apple cookies.
I am just having layered realizations about how much I have missed out on because of habit or a lack of time or connection to my own life. I like working with food in its original form. I like cooking, I like the way food nourishes beyond nutrition. I like thinking about food in a different way, having the time to do it justice. I close my eyes and can imagine that organic garden behind my dream home on the island. I imagine finishing my work on a new chapter, walking downstairs and putting on my dirty gardening shoes, going outside and loosening the soil around carrots and green beans, trimming tomato plants and picking lettuce, filling a basket with food that I have helped grow and harvest. And I can picture my family eating soup and laughing while they tell silly stories and soak bread in their bowls.
Writing here is like opening a lid slowly on something that has been lying dormant, growing old and stale. Just typing makes me aware of the alchemy of the act, of charged elements mixing around me and starting to shift everything. Small changes feel so big right now.
Yesterday evening we went for a walk around Green Lake. It gets so dark, so early at this time of year--by 4:30 it felt like it was already 8 o'clock. I watched the sky darken and a true twilight set in, the kind I haven't witnessed in forever. Light streaked across the sky and turned violet. Ducks skimmed across the water. All the trees around the lake were ablaze with autumn, reflecting themselves on the shoreline. Cora was asleep on my chest. Her small snores would periodically interrupt the sound of people running by or chatting about their day. I walked past two high school kids singing something about marshmallow pie. Even though Cora was so heavy on my chest, a sleepy 24-pound weight, I felt layers of myself rising up and feeling so light and free. I felt grateful to my core.
So, one of the new daily parts of our lives is for me to do all the things I was thinking I would pay someone to do.
I went grocery shopping a couple of days ago and started really trying to find ways to save money. Things are obviously a lot tighter without my income, and I've figured out exactly what we can afford each week. And I know perhaps this might sound odd to some people, but one of my favorite things to do is to go grocery shopping. I love filling my cart with a whole bunch of yumminess, picking out a new sauce or chocolate or wine or microbrew. We go to Trader Joe's at least once a week. When I was shopping at TJ's this last time, I realized that I often gravitate toward more prepared foods than I used to--like frozen cooked chicken and jars of simmer sauce, granola bars and hummus and roast turkey and ice cream. And the cart would literally be filled to the gills with goodness, but I wouldn't know quite what to fix when I got home and it was all unpacked and sitting untidily in our kitchen. Aside from the obvious health benefits of cooking more of our food from scratch, I have been feeling more and more aghast at the final bill and now, of course, is an important time to reign things in.
I grew up in a family that put a huge focus on whole foods, to a neurotic extent. At one point my family's diet/lifestyle was defined as organic, sugar-free, vegan macrobiotic, which, as you might imagine, narrowed things down considerably. I didn't eat meat until I was 22. When we used to go grocery shopping, the really expensive stuff we sprung for were things like imported seaweed, organic aduki beans, almond butter, yeast-free organic bread. And then when I was in college, I lived on a college budget and was literally able to leave the grocery store with enough food for a week for around $25. I actually loved to buy frozen veggies (boring ones, like cut carrots and peas and corn and lima beans) and heat them in the microwave and put salt and pepper on them. Then I started living with my now-husband and discovered how tasteless and limiting my grocery list was, so I started buying a lot more interesting foods and eating out more--and growing to love it. There were weeks when we lived in Pasadena when I'm not sure we cooked at all. Now, I'd like to go back to the source. I want to buy bulk foods and soak and cook beans from scratch, make whole meals out of dry ingredients and marinate poultry for a day before cooking it rather than defrosting it in the microwave before hurriedly serving it up. I want to bake bread and make cookies. Things that take time. This morning I baked a big kabocha squash, a ton of yams, and apples and pears. I made Cora a pot of creamy squash soup and I might try making her some yam and apple cookies.
I am just having layered realizations about how much I have missed out on because of habit or a lack of time or connection to my own life. I like working with food in its original form. I like cooking, I like the way food nourishes beyond nutrition. I like thinking about food in a different way, having the time to do it justice. I close my eyes and can imagine that organic garden behind my dream home on the island. I imagine finishing my work on a new chapter, walking downstairs and putting on my dirty gardening shoes, going outside and loosening the soil around carrots and green beans, trimming tomato plants and picking lettuce, filling a basket with food that I have helped grow and harvest. And I can picture my family eating soup and laughing while they tell silly stories and soak bread in their bowls.
Writing here is like opening a lid slowly on something that has been lying dormant, growing old and stale. Just typing makes me aware of the alchemy of the act, of charged elements mixing around me and starting to shift everything. Small changes feel so big right now.
Yesterday evening we went for a walk around Green Lake. It gets so dark, so early at this time of year--by 4:30 it felt like it was already 8 o'clock. I watched the sky darken and a true twilight set in, the kind I haven't witnessed in forever. Light streaked across the sky and turned violet. Ducks skimmed across the water. All the trees around the lake were ablaze with autumn, reflecting themselves on the shoreline. Cora was asleep on my chest. Her small snores would periodically interrupt the sound of people running by or chatting about their day. I walked past two high school kids singing something about marshmallow pie. Even though Cora was so heavy on my chest, a sleepy 24-pound weight, I felt layers of myself rising up and feeling so light and free. I felt grateful to my core.
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