I turned the calendar to December yesterday and sat with that for a while. This month, we will have been under a global pandemic for 40 weeks; the gestation we never expected. We feel the groan of labor pains crippling us, doubling us over, whispering that we won't make it through the isolating winter ahead. The silos we've been confined to are sealed. And yet. A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. Just when everything is bearing down on us to such an extent that we can scarcely . . .
This year I've become more introspective than ever about the passing of time. We've had time to watch the bluebird build its second and even third springtime nest, and we've had time to witness the leaves go from a top-tint ombre of gold and ochre in October to a full falling during November's hard rain. There are some things I've learned by just paying attention in these short days of autumn. And in no particular order, I've listed them here: 1.Children can survive long car trips. This . . .
In most years, Thanksgiving in my family begins with a series of emails. We coordinate food, sleep accommodations, birthday celebrations (we have 3 late November birthdays), and weekend outings. Before you know it, the side dishes have been accounted for and the pie sign up is complete. The rest is joyful chaos. But this year's email chain looked different. Pulling 20+ people together from three states in the 2nd—or is it the 3rd?—wave of a global pandemic was a heavier topic than who would . . .
A few days ago, I took my kids to a local peach orchard. It was morning, the humidity was low(er) and Graham needed to crank out some work, so out of the house we went. For a season that has felt so abnormal, the orchard was a solid known. We've gone there year after year for peaches in summer and apples in fall. Before we left, I read the new regulations on the website which included no more eating fruit in the orchard (or was that always a rule we chose to overlook?), masks inside the shop and . . .
Like many of you, I have spent quarantine time cleaning up and organizing things long-past due. One of those is a box of pictures I have carried with me to six different homes. I’m a product of the days when one blew through rolls of Kodak film, then checked the box for double prints at the store, only to discover that half the pictures were overexposed. You can imagine that going through twenty years of memories has been an undertaking and I’ve moved quickly to pitch and toss. But when I laid . . .