Current strategies

uninstalled all my news apps

disabled my Facebook account

to do lists written in pencil

vitamins

“How can I help?” instead of, “I suggest…”

not curling this hair that was created to be straight

heirlooms on display everywhere

fairy lights in the windows

a more democratic kitchen

not planning gatherings, just pastimes

While Covid-19 Rages

We’re all home again because case counts are too high at the high school and in the state. Mark has ordered a new game. Tim works on his Fiat in the garage. I read, continue to rearrange these shelves for a change of scenery, and make people paint peg dolls with me. Richard’s employer is demanding a lot of overtime, so we don’t see much of him, but he is here at the house, too.

Shedding

Only children take seriously the first October snow. Grownups know that early snow is a bit of a tease. Look, it’s nothing, it melts as it hits the asphalt. Today, this November snow is no tease. It seems like an iron door, swinging shut against the light of fall. Gold is out, silver is in. White crayons on black construction paper couldn’t be farther from the truth of a late afternoon winter snow. The clouds seem to be a blank, universal color, but which one? Purple? Steel gray? They are not white, but their feathers are.

So much shedding from something so still as a cloud.

I sorted my house last week, accompanied by stillness and my own thoughts. I shed many things, mainly childhood supplies we no longer need, which the self-assured young mothers in my life do not want. My heart is a nebulous gray as I shed the trappings of young motherhood, feathery memories floating in the air all around me as I fill bags and boxes. The act, like a silent winter storm, is terrible and beautiful. Objects of every color and memories of every shade, so many that it only feels blank and cold when the sorting is over and the shelves are bare. White.

Mood.

i get this way as i approach my birthday. It’s the most dependable melancholy of the year. i take time to own the mistakes and regrets of the year, the missed opportunities, the losses, and gains.

i lost nearly a tenth of myself in weight since my last birthday. Worry started it, then surgery. Being skinny is not all they say it is.

i didn’t write my book, but wrote statements of faith, i think more than a hundred pages of them.

i disappoint myself regularly.

i have loved being home, and enjoyed so much family time.

i have been more proud than ever of our children during the past 12 months, just unimaginably proud.

i learned to do less.

i know God’s promises to me by heart.

i have been lonely, and learned to bear it.

i have looked for wisdom from my angel grandmothers and aunts. Their memory reminds me to make family time the best it can be.

Lift

Yesterday on the way to the grocery store, we saw this hot air balloon hovering just above the trees. I scrambled for my phone to take a photo. It was good news, it was colorful, it was different. It made me smile. It made me think of the United States of America. It hovered above the worries within the houses beneath.

How do we rise amid the concerns of this time?

It will take the courage of a hot air balloon pilot, the whimsy of an artist, the creativity of an engineer, the steadiness of an accountant, the discipline of a student, the observation of a writer, the resilience of youth, the wisdom of experience, and the faith of Saints.

As we elevate our perspective beyond our current worries, we can inspire others to do the same.

Look up! Look outside yourself! Be cheerful and full of hope!

This is the lesson of the hot air balloon.

Upon the kitchen table

This is what was on our kitchen table this morning:

  • A plant, still sitting in the Christmas pot I decided to use a year and a half ago, “just until I found a different container.”
  • License plates for a new car
  • Ballots for Richard and Daniel, and a new adult driver license for Daniel
  • A trophy for Mark, signifying three years of great concerto performances
  • A note from Jordan High, telling Tim he has been selected as the Instrumental Music Sterling Scholar
  • A packet of information about graduation
  • A college flier
  • A laptop
  • A tray left over from the meal we took to Richard as he recovered from his scuba trip
  • Various place mats in disarray
  • Mark’s James Herriot book
  • A recipe and containers for a pasta salad I am making for a funeral this weekend

I am having a couple of rough days with my health, so I just picked up a few things to put away today. The table is large and can hold all the magnificent evidence of our lives. It’s unlike me to glory in the mess, but I kind of like this one. It shows that we are moving forward.

Recap

This was the week Richard went on a scuba diving trip, the boys played their piano concertos to an audience of two, and our tree erupted into every autumn color. Paige and Michael helped harvest the last apples before the frost. Mark took up baking again, and I started playing Christmas songs on my violin in earnest.

Favorite memory? The concerto performances.