This, not that. Manifesting and other oddities.

 I have come to the unfortunate realization that my little project was not the right project.

I know this because:

1) I started to procrastinate on it; and

2) I started to be bored - deeply bored - by my own words.

Never a good sign.

Yes, I want to nourish and notice. Yes, it's important to chase joy down, to grab joy by the hand and run straight into a field of wildflowers; to look joy in the eye and - full of anticipation and fear - leap from the end of the dock into the cold water below. Those things are immensely important.

But the truth is messier, and the messy truth is that my life isn't quite full of joy these days. It's joy-adjacent, through no fault of my own.

Self care does not mean deluding yourself that the shit sandwich handed to you is delicious. It might be on the finest bread, served on a china plate, with a lovely array of beautifully cut fruit arranged beside it, but the whole thing is tainted because, well, it's a shit sandwich.

Covid life is like that shit sandwich. I KNOW how lucky I am to have that plate of fruit, to have alternatives to choose from. But I also know that a shit sandwich is not something to celebrate, and I don't need to feel guilty for acknowledging that I am angry at even the suggestion of a shit sandwich. I know that there are those who have it worse, that I've had it worse, that it won't last forever, to count my blessings, to notice the good all around me, yada yada yada.

But this isn't a love and rainbows time of my life. I'm trapped in the house (or so it feels) because of Covid. I'm having a hard time feeling inspired by work. The house feels empty with Tessa gone. I worry about my weight, the end of democracy, the fact that I'm overdue for the dentist, and whether my daughter is on the right path and how I can help her to find her path. I haven't been inside a theater in over two years; I haven't traveled. I'm weary from all of the sitting, and angry with myself for not doing more to utilize this "precious down time" that is "an opportunity to reflect." I have not written the great American novel, or even a crappy first draft that nobody will ever want to read. I didn't get national boards certification, develop abs of steel, or master the Sunday crossword puzzle. I've done well enough - I haven't fallen apart, I've served my students, I've helped my daughter enter and transition to college, and I've gone on lots of walks even if I haven't run a marathon (or a half marathon, or a 5k). I've done coloring pages, made dozens of pairs of jewelry, and started a little embroidery project. I've tried blogging, journaling, and working on the book (I believe it will be great). I've done tiny house projects. I've saved some money, tucked into my savings account where sometimes I open my banking app just to see the number, to reassure myself that at this point in time, I'm safe enough.

Is it good enough?

None of your business.

No, I'm opening myself up here, so I don't mean to be rude, but what I mean is: you can judge me, one way or the other, but whatever you (dear Reader) think as you read this, I am trying.

And that is all anyone can do.

So I'm not going to write about unicorns and rainbows, because pretty fast it got monotonous. There aren't that many changes in my day to day right now; there aren't grand adventures and the tiny adventures are repetitive. Plus, if I was having grand adventures, could I write them in a way that didn't sound like an awful Christmas letter, half truths and grandiose claims designed to prove to someone - maybe me? - that my life was worthwhile?

This is a fallow time. I feel myself in the waiting time, not the exciting boundless energy time. So, I'm going to acknowledge this, and not focus on that.

***

Instead, I'm going to share my thoughts as they come, without one whit of care about whether they're the right thoughts for the right audience.

And right now my thoughts are about manifesting.

***

I do not believe in The Secret, because I think it's cruel. All over the world there are people who can barely take a breath because they are so busy with the painfully awful work of existing: because they are bedridden with disease, because they are managing intergenerational trauma, because they are fleeing war or famine, because their drinking water is unclean and the fires and tornadoes and floods are coming. You get my point. Telling people to manifest despite these odds just seems like a strange, unkind joke. People all over the world are whispering "please make my baby well" with every cell of their bodies vibrating with urgency, love, hope, pain, fear, and sometimes those babies die despite those vibrations. I know that, and to minimize it would be unkind of me.

So take this with a grain of salt.

Somehow, I've been able to manifest some very important things in my life.

When I got divorced, I had been out of the workforce for more than a decade, struggling with cancer most of that time, and I had an elementary school child. I still don't entirely know how it happened, but I was able to find a job that - while not the right job for me long term - was exactly the right thing for me at the right time. Not only did it pay my bills - just barely, but it did cover them - but it reminded me of who I could be, and helped me to return to myself as I exited that unhealthy marriage.

And I kept the house. When Tessa begged me, in tears after learning of the impending divorce, to keep the house, I made her a promise. It was rash of me: I knew I couldn't afford this big old house that not only has more space than we need, but also is nearly a century old and constantly in need of some new repair. (In December the dryer went out and needed replacing. In January, it was the hot water tank. Who knows what February will reveal.) But somehow, I held tight, and despite every bit of logic or reason, I was able to keep it, and even to sometimes make some improvements.

And I wanted a new sofa - something neutral and classic - and voila, a friend gifted me one. I wanted a bike, and it came up on Buy Nothing. I'm still not sure if I manifested Tessa's college acceptance and the whole experience of moving into a dorm (shopping and packing and unloading and setting up), but the whole thing is such a miracle that I refer to it as The Miracle.

And I shouldn't forget that when I decided to return to teaching, that very month (unbeknownst to me) they changed all the rules so that all I had to do to get recertificated was to fill out my name and address and pay less than $100, and that one month after making the decision to return to teaching I had my own classroom, 14 years after leaving teaching, and I got to teach at the same school with the same preps as when I had left. It was extraordinary.

Sometimes I've manifested free things: something I absolutely need and can't afford, or something I long for but can't justify - and it just appears. (Airpods - twice. A living room set. Patio furniture that is exactly what I had in mind. A bicycle. So many things!) I feel like I'm still manifesting my ability to pay my share of Tessa's college expenses. (Extraordinary. I still don't know how it happened. I got a raise at the right time, I was able to refinance with record low interest rates... I got so lucky.)

I'm ready to manifest some new miracles in my life, and I'm feeling optimistic and hopeful and like the light is coming. Some of it is work I must do to lay the foundation of my life, and some of it is going to come down to blind, dumb luck - a blessing from the Universe that I ask for but probably have no claim to; something I long for even though it's out of reach.

I don't know how to teach someone to do it. I can't do it with 100% accuracy all the time, and there's one miracle in particular that feels really late in arriving. But I also know, somehow, that this is a thing.

It's time for me to manifest some more things in my life. To dream big, to make space in my heart for what I really want, and not just for what life hands me. I acknowledge that while I'm going to work really hard for it, it's also going to come down to luck - which is another way of saying The Universe that some people call God.

Mary Oliver says, "I don't know what a prayer is," and I feel that with all my being, despite my prayers, belief, faith, refusal to categorize God into some box called religion (sacrilege to some, I think God would agree with me). She continues by saying "I do know how to pay attention," and that is how I feel. I'm watching, listening, waiting. Somehow I feel sure, despite the uncertainty. And that feels like what I think a prayer might be, even though I don't know.

I'm grateful for the gifts of my life, for the extraordinary surprise of being able to walk away from my family with the knowledge that it was time to break an inter-generational trauma cycle and survive to tell the tale; for this big old house that houses my heart as well as my body; for a daughter who, despite missteps, is finding her way to her dreams; for work that is meaningful and that I'm good at; for being able to make this life of mine into something. 

Sometimes I can turn nothing into something, and it's a miracle to witness.

I don't know what a prayer is, but I'm praying.

Day 12: Nourish and Notice, showing up

 Dear reader,

Today I'm crabby. I feel off my game, tired from a restless night last night, and entirely out of sorts.

But I showed up for myself anyway.

I showed up by getting up early and going to work, lunch packed. I showed up by giving the kids my all, all day long (including extra time after school to help them with their papers). I showed up for myself by going to therapy, even though I thought "I don't have anything to talk about!" (I did, as it turns out.)

Today's joy is that when I felt like crawling under the covers, I showed up in my life and did the best I could, and I'm proud of that. It won't win me a Nobel prize, but it took effort, and I'm not going to beat myself up over not doing more, I'm going to tell the truth: today I did the best I could.

And noticing?

My funny dog who sticks his nose under my arms when I'm typing, being silly to get my attention. A therapist who knows what she's doing to help me.

And a warm bed awaiting me, an early bedtime in the works, because I'm beat.

Tomorrow is another day.

Day 11: Nourish and Notice ,and a happy birth-day

 Today is Tessa's birthday. 19 years old is a strange number for me: it's the age my mother was when she gave birth to me; it's the age for legal alcohol consumption in Canada where I was born, and it's an age I recall oh-so-clearly from my own life. The older Tessa gets, the more clear my memories of myself at that age are.

How can my daughter and I be the same age?!

But of course, we are not, and I'm grateful for every one of my 52 years, even if on the inside I still feel like a 19 year old.

At 19, I was working close to full time to put myself through school. My boyfriend was 27, and he had a world class education, experience, and a "real" job for a big corporation. I thought I was so sophisticated to attract someone of his intellectual prowess, and that I must be a very mature person, but in hindsight, he was a lost person who had trouble connecting with women and probably found a much more youthful girlfriend easier to handle. At 19 I was filled with ambition for my life, to become the person I wanted to be, and I was filled with fire and yearning for more. I hadn't yet traveled, or experienced much of life, but I knew with absolute certainty that I would do so.

Tessa is not me, and her path is different (including an age-appropriate boyfriend). Unlike me, she is living at college - financed by her father and I, at some personal sacrifice we both find well worthwhile - experiencing a dorm, a roommate, and all of the other parts of college like interesting professors and boring ones, new ideas, staying up way too late, eating at all hours of the day. (I lived with my parents, who did not support my college dreams nor provide financially, and who told me I was disloyal and ungrateful when I wanted to move out.) So her path is joyously different than mine... and I love that. I love that she's finding her way, and that she has opportunities to experience these different parts of coming into adulthood. I get so much joy out of being able to provide her with those experiences.

Last summer she and I went to far too many stores, shopping for just the right dorm items. She likes to cook, so we got her the basics of a kitchen, including the pale pink dishes and bright blue glasses she picked out. Her bedding is blush sheets in just the right softness, with a cloud-like feather comforter in a chambray color. She has pictures of her friends on the wall, a soft fluffy robe and cute flip flops for walking down the hall to her communal showers, and the cute bathroom organizer that came with a waterproof phone case. She has a new laptop for school, school logo sweatshirts and t-shirts and stickers.

I imagine her at the end of the day, climbing into the bed with the just-right pillows and the cute throw pillows and the bedding that she picked out, and remembering that her mom loved her and made sure she got just the right things to be comfortable at college. The reality is that she probably falls into bed every night thinking of her boyfriend, or a paper that's due, or something she saw on TV, but that's okay, because even if she doesn't think about it, *I* know that the she's getting a hug from me every time she slips into those sheets.

And it gives me joy.

Today I reflected a little bit about her birth, and we went back and forth sharing stories about it - Tessa knows the stories as well as I do, teasing, "And you thought of dolphins!" because with every contraction I did, indeed, visualize myself as a dolphin climbing to the top of the wave, then flying down. (When I shared this anecdote with my PEPS group for new mothers, they all stared at me as if I was insane. Apparently most people go the epidural route, not the dolphin route!) Tessa knows she was born into love, from before she was born; she knows how wanted she was and is, and this gives me joy.

About a week or two ago, when I wasn't feeling well, I watched Tessa's favorite Disney movie, "Tangled." In that show, on the princess's birthday, they release paper lanterns into the sky and make wishes for her. Well, last night, Tessa, Noah and I did just that. We wrote on them, and then drove to Lowman Beach to light them and send them into the night sky. I packed blankets and a thermos of hot tea, and we helped each other to set up each lantern and send it into the sky, and it was lovely. They drifted up over the water, and Orion was bright in the sky, and the waves were lapping, and their lights carried our wishes for Tessa into the world, and I thought - yes. Yes. It was beautiful, peaceful, hopeful, and Tessa loved it too. Yes, so much joy.

I notice that my daughter chose to spend the weekend at home, that she's doing well in school right now, that her eyes seem bright and clear.

I notice that I've been a mom for 19 years, and that I'm proud of the way I've mothered her. I'm so joyful that we're close, and that we're finding our way through new ways to be in relationship with one another as she grows up.

I notice that she heard me when I told her that I wasn't going to be her maid service when she visits, and the she should not leave me another big mess - and she cleaned up after herself.

And I notice that she's busy living her life, and she is well, and so I should work on myself, too. I can stop worrying so much right now, and let her be.

Days 6-10: Nourish and Notice, Letting Go of Expectations

 Well. Good intentions and all that. Here I am, day 10, and rather behind! Well, one thing I'm going to notice today is that I'm tired of beating myself up, because then I'm beaten up and the original problem is still a problem.

So, a little catch up!

Day 5: Hit the sofa. I really felt crummy, and though I was better than before, I was more fatigued than before. Instead of fighting it, I curled up in my sweatpants, drank gallons of hot tea, napped, read. It was what I needed! Nourishing my body was good for me, and instead of pushing through and making myself worse, I relaxed. There is quiet joy in that.

Day 7: Back to work. At last! And the kids sent me nice notes saying they'd missed me, and they worked hard, and I felt like I was where I belonged. It was quite a shift to work 9 hours after days of nothingness, but I managed, and I was proud of myself. I really didn't want to walk Chance after work - all I wanted was sleep - but I managed, and his gratitude (jumping up and down over and over - his glee and anticipation at the walk was truly joyful, and I shared in his joy).

Day 8: Gettin' her done. I put in a hard day's work, helped a ton of kids, had an after work meeting, and made it through. Proud of that again! I got into the car exhausted, but refused to give in to it, and managed to run a number of errands after work, before coming home and making sure Chance got another good walk. His joy was unfettered again, and truly made me giggle.

Day 9: Getting my girl. I got to work by 6:30, managed a meeting before work, and busted my butt until the last kid left at 4pm, and then I went to get Tessa from CWU. The ride there was surprisingly beautiful - the sunset was gorgeous, pink, clear skies, sparkling snow, and the tips of the mountains were bathed in golden light. I listened to music as I drove, and felt in the moment, glad to be on my way. When I got there, I finally met Tessa's roommate in person (a lovely person), then Tessa and I drove home and she was full of warmth, chatty, excited about her classes. She's finding her way at last and I am so happy for her - so grateful that she is choosing to try, choosing to commit to the process, finding her happiness again.

Day 10: Ticking off my list. Today I did a bunch of chores - things I didn't want to do, like vacuuming and cleaning the toilet and folding laundry - and ran errands around the Junction. I love my little village on the edge of my big city: the bakery is amazing, the lady at the post office is kind and thoughtful, and the park where I walk Chance is so wonderful (and I got to see a seal pup, fat and gray, once again today). Now I'm having a couple of quiet hours, and then Tessa and Noah will come back with the takeout I paid for, we'll eat, and then we'll bring our dessert down to the beach. I bought paper lanterns to light and send out over the water, just like in Tessa's favorite Disney movie ("Tangled"). We already wrote our wishes for Tessa on their paper sides, and I look forward to munching on a cupcake, sipping hot tea, as they float high above us. Tessa liked the idea, too, and it's nice to be able to give her a little surprise, to see her get excited even in the time of coronavirus when we are so cautious at home.

Tomorrow I'll write again, but today I'm catching up. letting go of the hope that I'd ponder brilliantly, and instead, I'm just taking a little time to notice those things in my life that bring joy. It's imperfect, but it's still good.

And now? I'm tired, resting up with a little Gilmore Girls before Tessa and Noah return. Best show ever! <3

Day 4: Nourish & Notice - Healing

 Dear Reader,

I have been fighting something like omicron (but maybe not omicron - my home tests were negative) for a week as of today. But this morning...I feel it lifting, and I feel so much better! 

To nourish joy today I finally left the house (to do a PCR test, but still!). I went for a walk in the forest near my home, taken the lesser-traveled paths, and veering onto a new path each time a person might come by, and I kept my KF94 on. But I got outside, and felt the soft loam of the forest floor underneath my sneakers, and it felt so good to leave the house.

I spend a lot of time loving my house and feeling grateful for it, but this house and I have been spending too much time together, and it's hard to have a joyful reunion if we're always together. Leaving for a bit makes me remember the world awaiting me. I've been curled in on myself during this pandemic, my world shrinking to such a small space, and today I'm dreaming of adventures yet to come. I can't wait to go backpacking this summer, to dive into alpine lakes, to stretch my legs long despite a heavy pack, to sleep under stars inhaling the deep scent of pine, fir, cedar. Today's little walk was a reminder that those things will come back, that it won't be like this - inside, sick, frustrated - forever.

I also nourished joy by making a crock pot full of garbanzo bean curry to enjoy for dinner tonight. I added to the spices in the recipe - bright red chili peppers, a curled stick of cinnamon, a little cumin - and took joy in the bright colors of the vegetables (golden peppers, bright carrots, purple onion, yellow potatoes, white garlic) on the bamboo cutting board; the bright blue enameled pot sitting on the stove (soaking the beans) never fails to cheer me up.

And then I wrote a half dozen cards for friends: a letter to Tessa reflecting on this stage of our lives; little notes for a couple of her friends (living far from home this year for the first time, and they are part of my community, too), a friend experiencing illness, a friend with a new job, a friend who did me a favor. I have a little secretary with a fold out desk and bins at the back where I store the accoutrements of letter writing: a tin of pens, a stack of stamps, and a wide selection of cards just waiting for the perfect occasion. When a person in my life has an event, large or small, it's so fun for me to flip through cards to find the one right for them, and to have a sort of mis en place for letter writing. I write these notes and letters in order to nourish my friends, but it is not lost on me that it nourishes me just as much (or more) to sit and reflect upon the good people in my life, the passage of time with them, the ways in which they have been there for me and the ways in which I aspire to be there for them.

Noticing joy - well, I must admit that it's been a little tougher as I've been solo and sick. But the purpose of this blog is to remind myself, so...

I noticed that my crazy dog is calming down, and we walked by several dogs today without him barking and losing his mind. Ahhh - it IS possible!

I noticed that my crazy dog took short work of walking in mud, then all over my new-ish white running shoes, and that now they are imprinted with memories of our many walks together. These are shoes for living, not fashion, so as he dances so near to me to be on me, I will take the reminder of his joy in being outside and exercising as my own.

I noticed that man who checked me in, and the lady who did my PCR test, were kind and patient.

And... I've been avoiding something for too long, and today I feel strong enough to tackle it. I'm anticipating that tomorrow I will be able to write about that, but for today, I'll just hint that I am feeling more determined and capable than I have in a while, and that hopefulness is joyful.

And while I'm just being a bit obscure, I'll add one more hint: I have an instinct that my daughter is going through something big and a bit scary right now, but that she is okay, and that this is a part of who she is becoming and who she is meant to be, and that in addition to the end of something it might be the beginning of something wonderful. Fingers crossed that I am right about the happy ending on this. It's all instinct, but I trust my instincts, so I am sitting this one and waiting for new information and clarity.

I notice that my instincts are good, so when they're loud like this, I listen. I like this about myself, although it's a bit strange. It pops up at random times, and I can't control it, but when my body talks this loudly I listen, and I've learned to trust it. Only time will reveal the truth, but I'm noticing this part of myself and joyful at the message that all is going to be well.

Okay, I've got a job to tackle, and it's time for me to get going. That's all for today - see you tomorrow!

Day 3: Nourish and Notice, Creative Pursuits

Dear Reader,

I'm going to have to get real to begin today: my pursuit of joy is off to a bumpy start. The bug that took me down last Monday night is not going away, and I can hardly believe how frustrating it is! Headache + nausea + sore throat is not something I enjoy, and it does not inspire me towards joy.

However, I figure this is just a chance to double down on my commitment. Nothing like a challenge, right?

So here we go:

Today I nourished joy by being a teensy bit creative. I ordered a cross stitch kit earlier this week, even though I've never done anything like that in my life, and even though I need to put a stitch in my bathrobe (and have needed to do so for about a month), even though "the domestic arts" like sewing, knitting, quilting, scrapbooking are generally not my thing. Even though I have no energy from being sick, and a to-do list that is really kind of extraordinary (and growing as I miss time from work).

But I've been loving it.

I picked a sweet little pattern of cherry blossoms and leaves with a  pair of little songbirds sitting on one branch. It's mostly pinks and soft greens, and the palette is soothing, and it reminds me of Tessa because she loves cherry blossoms even more than I do, and the little avian pair looks loving and happy. I let it sit for a couple days after receiving it, because, frankly, despite the soothing palette, it was intimidating. There are a half dozen or more types of stitches, more than twenty colors of thread, and directions in little tiny font. Who does this for fun?! This is a beginner kit?

But today I decided that if I had to be housebound for another day, I needed to try something creative, and I didn't have the energy to work on my book, so I dove in.

I started small, with the outline stitch. Each leave (more than 50) has a little dash of veins through the middle, in the outline stitch, so I grabbed the deep olive green and learned that each "floss" has six threads, and that different stitches use different numbers of threads. Having figured this out, I started.

My stitches are a bit wobbly and uneven. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. I already did one leaf in the wrong shade of green.

And yet... 

I like what I'm creating.

I'm already improving.

It's meditative.

I feel connected with hundreds of years of women who, denied the workplace or "manly" creative pursuits, used needlepoint in order to express themselves.

I keep thinking about Jane Austen and her novels, with women sitting in the corners, biding their time (and how likely Elizabeth Bennett couldn't care less to do such things). I keep thinking that if there was a house full of men in 1800, I could sit quietly and stitch leaves and petals and songbirds into being, and allow my mind to wander, and listen to what they said, and learn about their goings on and the worlds forbidden to women, and I'm glad to feel this connection to my female ancestors, and I'm also glad that soon enough I will leave the house to live in the big world, not trapped into needlework but choosing it as one of many diversions.

I keep thinking about how my mind got quieter as I stitched, and how learning a new skill is kind of fun. I am thinking about how allowing myself to be creatively silly - this will never end up in an art gallery, and perhaps I'm the only one who will ever notice it - is actually really joyful. There is no audience except myself, and there is no mission except to allow myself to get caught up in the moment.

So today I nourished joy quietly, and started a little creative project just for myself. If I ever finish it (I'm telling myself "no pressure" as the journey is more important than the destination) I will hang it up on my wall near my bed so I can look at it and think, "Hey! I did that!" and so I might just see it through.

And as for noticing joy? That one was much easier to grab onto today.

My friend knew that I was sick, and asked if I needed anything - and she meant it. I texted her a little Trader Joe's list along with my gratitude, and a few hours later the necessary supplies showed up on my front porch. (Dear fellow West Seattleites: I love you and I do not plan to get you sick, even if it's not covid, so I'm staying home and away from grocery stores.)

Isn't it lovely to have friends who do things like that? When I first got sick, another friend delivered me soup, bread, salad, dessert, and a magazine with a sweet note. If I need anything, a half dozen people would be willing to help me without blinking, no questions asked. I know this about my life, and I appreciate it more than I can say.

I ventured out for a little walk with Chance (mask on, and far from Lincoln Park because there are always lots of folks there) and he was so joyful to leave the house at last. He is so easy to make happy - such a sweet pup, for all of his bouncing and craziness. I'm so glad he's in my life. We only went a mile when he really needed many miles, but today was an improvement over yesterday so we'll take the win.

I've been alone all week except for Chance, but I'm not lonely. This too shall pass, and my phone beeps with little messages from friends, so I never feel totally alone even when I am.

I just put fresh sheets on the bed (after a week of being sick it was time) and I absolutely love the bliss of a freshly bathed body slipping into fresh sheets. The simplest of pleasures and I get excited every time!

It's time for me to make another cup of tea with lemon and honey (lemon and honey were in that care package, but I have enough tea to make it for months!), so I'll stop here. There will be more joy to notice tomorrow...and my fingers are crossed that such joys include a disappearing headache and a throat that doesn't scratch! 

PS It feels like cheating, but writing this is its own form of joy. I'm glad I decided to do this, even when "Dear Reader" might just be me! I need to remind myself of joy, and how it exists even in my imperfect life. I haven't been seeking it enough lately, and I'm determined to do better at that. This blog is a great accountability partner. Day three and going strong - only 362 days to go!

Day 2, Nourish & Notice: A little late is still showing up

 As I went to bed last night I realized that on Day 2 of my 365 day challenge to notice joy... I hadn't come here to write this down.

There's a metaphor in there that is so blindingly obvious that I want to cross it out and start with something less ridiculous, but instead I'm going to shrug and say, "well, I showed up, so that still counts."

So, here's thoughts from last night:

I'm still fighting the omicron that's not omicron (have those symptoms, feeling fatigued, but testing negative on home tests?) so today I noticed that joy can be quiet. Sometimes joy isn't dancing in the kitchen with wild abandon, but the joy is there none-the-less.

Yesterday's nourishing joy looked like wearing a soft sweater and warm socks, curling up on the sofa with a favorite mug containing a favorite tea with lemon and honey, reading a book, Chance at my feet and ever loyal. It looked like receiving a postcard from my daughter and remembering that though she might be away at college and making her own way, we still have a heart connection and our love is unshakable. 

Yesterday's nourishing joy also looked like nourishment itself. I'd been eating all kinds of random things this past week, unenergetic and uninspired, but yesterday I decided to make veggies bourguignon and mashed potatoes. Pulling the vegetables out of the drawer, and setting up my kitchen island with the cutting board and my favorite chef's knife, mis en place, everything in its place, is a wonderful feeling. About a year or two ago I bought an enameled cast iron braiser in a lovely night-sky blue, and cooking in it is a treat: wonderful brown bits form under the onions, garlic, and mushrooms, and it's so sturdy and made to last for generations that I swear that food cooked in it tastes better. Taking this time to take care of myself - because surely a dish made with onions, mushrooms, carrots, cauliflower, and parsnips must be healing - made me feel much better, even if I do keep sneezing.

And yesterday's noticing joy was so much about my home. My house is like a living, breathing creature that wraps me in its embrace, offers me comfort that I couldn't dream of asking for. The cozy sofa with a blanket close by, a stack of books within reach. Big windows where I could look out and see fog in the big cedar tree outside. A cupboard so stocked with food that I could be sick for a couple more weeks and certainly not starve. Light streaming through the windows, and the sound of foghorns (so soothing) drifting inside. In the past few years I've gotten really into houseplants, and my living and dining rooms are bursting with their green life, and I really do think that they make the space feel different. The art on my walls isn't fancy, but each piece is hand selected and meaningful to me - the landscapes are places I love. There are little silver-toned frames with pictures tucked everywhere, mostly of Tessa, reminding me of shared times. 

My house has been a constant in my life for twenty years now. There are marks on the doorway to the basement where the baby gate was once affixed; there's a scratch on the bottom of a door where Chance once protested being locked in a room. The furniture is mostly hand-me down, and this used to bother me so much, but I'm embracing it now. "Grandpa's bookcase" is my favorite: my beloved grandfather left it to me, and it takes center stage in my home, its carving and glass front doors making it beautiful, but its family connection making it priceless. Other pieces aren't so fancy: the chairs passed down by a college roommate when she upgraded her set, the kitchen table from Buy Nothing, the side table from one neighbor, the sofas from another. Almost everything has a story, and it's a hodge-podge collection that feels rich in history and friendship. I might be biased, but I think it all somehow fits together, a hand curated selection that is interesting, thoughtful, warm. When new friends visit, they always tell me "your home feels great!" and old friends return here over and over again, comfortable in my home's comfort. Many of my friends have fancier things, and I may be biased, but I think the coziness of my home makes it the go-to spot even though it isn't as stylish as some.

One of the dining room chairs has scratches underneath it where Tessa's booster seat used to sit. Those scratches - deep and worn - upset me when I first discovered them (I really love those solid wood chairs, how could I be so foolish as to let this happen?!), but now I'm pretty sure that's my favorite chair of the set. The marks are reminders of sitting at the table, Tessa's soft wispy gold curls framing her big blue eyes, talking endlessly of ponies and horses.

I've been listening to a lot of records lately, and they are bringing me so much joy. Having to stop and turn them over makes me really commit to listening to the music, and there is something so connected with touching the album, noticing the artwork, choosing which side to listen to. Raising the arm to place it softly on the outer groove, and that soft crackle before the music begins, is a meditative moment where the almost-silence is a calm thrill.

The fog is still here today, and the world seems quieter. I've been sick almost a week, and the isolation - on top of nearly two years of Covid - could be awful, but instead I'm trying to root myself deeper into the fallow field, ready to emerge from sickness, a global pandemic, and the ups and downs of life stronger than I went in. I'm not sure that I'm succeeding with that just yet (there is no joy in dishonesty, and I think being truthful with myself is a goodness that has its own hopeful joy), but I'm trying.

I'm looking forward to healthy days when the world and I can embrace again, fearlessly and with abandon. But while I wait for those days, I'm finding the quiet joys of my life, nourishing me. Today I'm a day late, and I don't have a grand adventure to share, and the belly laughs are yet to come, but I'm here, and I'm grateful for that. Quiet joy is still joy.