Summer and plants and pets and Taylor

My word. More than two months have passed since I last sat down to write. I hate that the temporal space between posts seems to be getting longer; what feels like stuck is actually rustiness. And with that comes a sheepishness, or perhaps a sluggishness, with both writing and sharing.

Such avoidance happens for very real reasons—time constraints, busyness, the kids getting older, some things just don’t need to be shared—but also it’s rather like exercise; if you stop, it’s awfully easy to never return. Writing, as I always tell my students, is both craft and therapy. It takes practice and effort, but the returns are substantial: greater skill, augmented self awareness, and peace. Regardless of what “it” is, better out than in.

Societally, the concurrent increase in loneliness and decrease in mental well-being are markers of a terrible trend of isolation and lack of trust. There are many reasons for both: Covid, social media, the climate crisis, partisan politics, a rapidly fraying social contract based on fact, mutuality, and kindness. And sometimes that all feels utterly overwhelming. Overwhelm makes it easy to stop exercising, writing, making time and space for the joys of living. I see that in my students all the time. I see it in myself and my beloved friends and family, too.

But here I am, back to the page. Happily so. I am sitting in our reading room in WV. Ruthie is cleaning her bottom with absolute dedication and thoroughness. Now she’s on to a paw. If you’ve never watched a cat bathe its paws, you are missing out on a darling process. Try to find a bathing cat, and I swear you’ll feel nearly hypnotized.

At Oliver’s 8th grade graduation; now heading to 12th and 9th.

Both Jack and Oliver left last Friday; Jack flew to Berkeley for an engineering and leadership program, and Oliver returned to Pine Island. After my two round trips to Dulles, I loaded my car with the cats, guinea pigs, and a few groceries and headed to WV. Tom joined me later that day and stayed for five. We’re lucky to be able to work remotely from here, and all credit for that goes to T who has jury-rigged some system involving an old phone, a new SIM card, a router, and something made by eero that blankets Wi-Fi over your house. Why is that necessary, you might ask? Because West Virginia, both poor and mostly rural, is vastly underserved by broadband internet that so many of us take for granted. So, yay Tom.*

I was not in, shall we say, a calm state when I arrived. Last week was madness as Jack had his driving test for his license (he passed!), both kids had Global Entry interviews, both needed to pack, there were appointments, etc. But immediately, as I always am when the boys first leave in the summer, I was struck by how time takes on a completely different personality when it doesn’t need to be so fastidiously and constantly shared with so many. Everything slows. Initially, it almost feels like some drug-induced alternate reality experience. I kept worrying that the day was almost over but when I checked the clock, it was but lunchtime. The first three nights we were here, I slept for 10-12 hours each. I have since read four whole books, one of which I bought and first started two years ago.**

I have gardened a lot, too. Duh. For me, working outside is like the physical form of writing; both are immersive processes that enable/force you to focus and process. Gardening allows you the time, writing demands it. I am determined to wrangle some control over the four zones that surround the house, all of which had been left to nature for decades prior to us buying this property. I love me some nature, but invasive shit that thrives on increased atmospheric carbon dioxide levels and related drought and heat is not my jam. It benefits nothing but has an insatiable appetite for area. Slowly, I’m reclaiming a fair bit of land and infusing it with love, amendments, and native (and some just beautiful) plants along the way. Penstemon, bee balm, spirea, echinacea, sedges and grasses (not fescue or turf; nothing that needs a crap ton of water and provides almost nothing for nature), ferns, solidago, mountain mint, hydrangeas…the list goes on, and honestly, I am very proud. It is peaceful and beautiful here. It always was, but when I look out and my eyes are awash in bees, butterflies, birds, frogs, fireflies (right now!), and so forth, I am deeply happy and satisfied. Today I planted three black chokeberries, two Itea virginica Little Henrys, a Virginia Creeper, and 10 Pycnanthemum muticum aka short toothed mountain mint. I did this in 85 degree heat and an N95, mind you, because smoke from the Canadian wildfires rendered the air here (and in MD and throughout the area) Code Red quality. Several hours in, it was like I was trying to waterboard myself. Awful. My heart hurts for all in California, Canada, and around the world who deal with this on the regular. The climate crisis is worsening.

After Hurricane Laura, as we salvaged and packed everything possible in my parents’ house, someone thought to get the porch swings. Mom and Dad had had them made for the house back in 1994, and, until Laura, one hung on each of the two back porches overlooking the bayou. They gave us one when we bought this home, and last month we finally found the perfect spot and hung it. It’s in Zone 3, of my 4 labeled mission-to-reclaim areas, which has been the biggest bear to wrangle into some submission, but the view is sublime and having this swing is worth all effort.

I have to return home tomorrow, and while I hope the WV version of time will come with me, it won’t, at least not for long. I’m going to go have a quiet dinner now, but let me just leave you with a bit of Taylor.

Swift that is. Yes, I am a total Swiftie.

Tom and I saw her second show in Pittsburgh over Father’s Day weekend, and it was worth every penny, all the driving, and the two hours it took us to get out of the parking garage afterwards. Taylor is an absolute queen. QUEEN. I feel so lucky to have been there. She sang and danced for 3+ hours straight. Everyone in the crowd was blissed out. Everyone felt welcome and happy and seen. It was such a gathering of acceptance, love, and joy.

*and screw you, Tommy Tuberville, and all Republicans who voted against Biden’s broadband funding but then raved about how it would benefit their people.

**New terrific mystery/crime writer alert: Catherine Ryan Howard. Irish, terrific writer with great, tense plots. Start with The Liar’s Girl! Distress Signals is also fab. I cannot wait to read more.
The book I bought two years ago was not one of CRH’s. I may need to write an entire post about said two-year-old book because while the story was good, the writing caused me great distress. NO ONE needs to use the word scent four times in two consecutive sentences. Pain.

Time's determined march

Leaves are changing color and falling, but the high temperatures and humidity persist. My habanero plant is flowering again; it is confused. Summer and fall are duking it out in the final battle for seasonal primacy.

I step from my bath, dripping and thoughtful. Epsom salts and heat help my achy back, the scar on which hasn’t faded over the years as much as I’d have liked. I am prone to all manner of irregular freckles and moles; some need to be removed, while others are simply physical manifestations of my idiosyncrasies and can stay and remind me of such. 

I study my face and its newer wrinkles, my belly and hips. My eyes look tired. Things everywhere are both taut and soft, as aging bodies are wont. Thinner here, fuller there.

It occurs to me that the seasons aren’t the only things fighting for supremacy.

I used to know everyone in the school pick-up line. But during the past two years, waves of new families have reached the shore, and now, I sometimes feel slightly meek and anonymous. Friendships are being forged, over children and similarities I may never know. 

I haven’t felt that way in a long time, and I’m not sure if I like it or don’t.  

My big boy will graduate this year and move to the older campus. I think I like that but nostalgia grabs my heart and makes me unsure. I glean comfort from the fact that even if I’m then just part of the crowd, my younger one will tether me to the special place for a couple years more.

A friend writes with disbelief, “I can’t believe you volunteer at school so often.” I reply, “I love it because not only can I give back but also I can see my children as their best selves.” I had never thought about that before and am again struck by the power of writing without thinking, of responding without editing myself immediately and repeatedly.

There is a lesson there.

I awoke this morning as might a furious storm, swirling and messy and vexed. My agitation could have been for so many reasons, or none at all. I cried, and cooked. I talked to a dearest friend and kept cooking. I poured my soul into my friend and my food. And, later, into my boys.

They were both darling and not, thankful and spoiled, perfect and ugly. My mind told me to run, my heart urged me to stay. Both were right. I am no longer interested in the not-rare arguments about, for example, how much of a body one will willingly bathe. But I am inordinately grateful to be the one asked for advice and trusted with deep secrets.

Finally, the pregnant skies have opened, releasing their watery savings with an unapologetic gush. The parched earth yawns, gratefully lapping up what is shared. Mud splatters, newly sown seeds are unmoored. Wild animals take cover, my domesticated ones snooze obliviously, comfortable and secure on blankets and in beds.

Time marches inexorably on, battling towards the future and against the past. I see it in the seasons, and on my body. In the wave of new faces and the six years that have flown by, a blip in a vast sea, since my family joined the school community we hold so dear. In my dog’s gray whiskers, and in my husband’s too. In the rain that pours down and my sons as they mature.

In the belief in tomorrow and the fresh start it holds.

Time

The glorious, sockless day we had on Monday gave way yesterday to the longest rain I’ve experienced in months. Today, purported to be partly sunny and with temperatures in the 60s(!), is presently neither, and I’m shivering inside on my couch. I just can’t bear to put on another sweater.

I’m worrying about the boys as, under the premise of warmth, they both wore short-sleeved shirts today. Fortunately they have their fleece-lined coats, and I do hope they have them on. Nutmeg peed in my US Presidents puzzle box, so I imagine he’s been struck by another UTI, a dear friend is sad, and my list of to-dos is miles long.

Because of all that, I’m quite happy to stay inside today. I am vexed as to why there seems to be so much going on right now. Did I get behind during the snow- and conference days? Is no season calm in this day and age?

I’ve been working like a beast in preparation for Em-i-lis 2.0 to go live in the very near future (hint: weekend). That’s surely part of this busyness, and it’s all been a complete pleasure. T and I have been trying to see friends and go out more regularly which is fun too. The boys, largely activity-free, stay up a bit later these days which I know is the normal progression of child development, but it does take back some of the quiet, alone time at night before I must go to bed too.

Oliver’s birthday and party are quickly approaching, and I’ve got swim noodles to transform into light sabers and foam-core and paper lantern Star Wars aircraft to spray paint gray and then detail. T and I have Ol’s “Roots” presentation to give at school this Friday, so I need to bake a related snack for that and then also remember to send cupcakes in next Tuesday for Ol’s birthday treat. Jack is heading on an overnight field trip to Jamestown, so I must remember to get his sleeping bag and gear ready and a bag lunch packed.

Then on to Oliver’s annual well-child exam and some school events before spring break commences a week from this Friday. Why on earth after long winters full of snow days the school doesn’t hold classes the Friday before break begins is beyond me.

In the midst of all this scurrying about, I start to fret. I don’t want to run solely on this wheel-for-others quite so often and for quite so long. I love tending to my family, and I take pride in my home. I enjoy grocery shopping, delight in crafting homemade birthdays for my boys, and don’t even mind doing the laundry because T is so great about folding it all when he gets home from work. But I haven’t seen the off-ramp to Self Time much in recent weeks, and I’m struggling to fit in the cooking and writing I miss.

There are so many things I want to do in this life. I have an abundance of interests, places I want to see, subjects about which I want to learn. I panic sometimes that I won’t get to them all, that if I let things slide, I’ll miss opportunities now and in the future.

Meanwhile, I know how fleeting the present is. My baby is about to turn SIX and will head to first grade in September. I’m having trouble wrapping my head around that one and am grateful he still wants to hold my hand when we walk. My big boy is so capable and sturdy; I mean, what has happened to his feet and legs? All of a sudden, they feel different. I swear. His feet have no pudge, no softness anywhere except for the smooth skin covering them. His calves are young man calves now, muscles and sinew of a completely different kind that remain in Ol’s younger legs. He still tells me publicly that he loves me, and I hold on to those with both hands and a whole heart because even if he doesn’t feel himself growing up, I see and feel it.

It’s tough to hold these disparate truths in the balance I try to strike each day. To appreciate the past, remain in the present and look forward to and plan for the future.