summerweight

Summer's here early.  It's hot and humid.  And outside of our pastoral bubble, the world is full of anxiety and anger and concern.  No one is sure anymore.  

There are a few things to be sure of, when we look outside.  We watch the 4 hummingbirds fight over 6 seats at the feeder.  The sugar snap peas are falling off the trellis from their own weight.  The birds eat the blueberries before we ever see them.  The snakes are hiding quietly in the grass.  The deer are having babies.  Nature's routines reflect our (human) own. 

Meanwhile, we are leaning in to what works at home.  We garden and we play.  We work upstairs with the help of a few trusted friends to babysit and grandparents who can help occasionally with the boys.  We have groceries delivered.  We try to exercise and we forget what day it is.  We don't plan on going back to "normal," whatever that means, anytime soon.  

(Rather, we are persistent in the hope that what lies ahead is better than normal.)

I am stubbornly committed to new normal.  Selfishly, for myself and my family.  So I can work from anywhere and enjoy the sunshine.  So my kids can play in the mud and read books with me in the middle of the day.  But also for the nature of our work.  For empathy, compassion, and justice in our society.  For showing up authentically and without fear.  The new normal of being ourselves, loving ourselves, and caring for each other. 

While we wait  here, we try to make small improvements in the house still.  We put in air conditioning on one side in our attic space where we work, and now we are doubling down because my side is still hot.  A dear friend sewed a beautiful table skirt for me to help conceal the attic boxes that cluttered up my workspace.   I picked up my office chair and plants from work to make it more comfortable still.  

Downstairs we continue to treat swarming termites who reemerged before Memorial Day and totally threw us off our axis.  (I guess we should have known.)  We bought a new mattress and a rug, in an effort to make our living and sleeping space as comfortable as we can while we are here.  

(You love a before-and-after, right?  I'll get there.) 

We did some work outside, too, planting more fruit and tons of vegetables.  We used tree-cutting mulch to clean up the front area around new azaleas, new viburnum plantings, and existing peonies.

In many ways I can feel myself clinging to the time of covid, selfishly for my family.  We are thriving.  But I know this won't, can't, and should never be forever.  It's a moment in time for our family and for the world, heavy with uncertainty about the future but buzzing with clarity about what matters now.  

I think as some people restlessly return to normal lives, some desperately grieve what has been lost, and others charge ahead to reimagining the future, I might miss the solidarity of the covid crisis.  Knowing we were in it together, staying home, one team, together and apart.  Knowing there was nowhere to go and nothing else to do.  The decisions can be the hardest part, and we have many that lie ahead.  

We can't go back, we can't yet go forward.  But we are transforming.  And we build strength in that good work.  Please, let's don't go back to normal.  Let's be still and get it right this time.  Let's take care of ourselves and, when we're ready, show up-- for real this time.