Actually, the dogs get out to circle the neighbourhood every day. Ric does the walking. He does the grocery shopping, picks up meds, and deals with all other outside matters. I stay home, guarding my high risk.
We do try to maintain some normalcy by ordering out once a week. In our small town the choices are: Chinese, diner food, or pub fare. My favourite, Thai, is only available in the city a half hour away.
“Let’s order Thai and drive in and pick it up.”
I feel like a kid playing hooky. Our closest city is a tourist destination, typically bustling with people. Not this day though. Police patrol to make sure people are obeying physical distancing laws. It’s as if we’re on the set of sci-fi film.
We order two days worth of food. Small things make a big difference in these days of isolation.
My childhood home was surrounded by fence, bordered by tall cedars – we had a secret to keep. I learned not to trust neighbours. I learned the price of shame.
At the back of the yard was a gate that opened onto a field and beyond that a wooded area. There I found serenity, connection, and a knowledge that what happened within my father’s fortress was not the totality of life.
I like gates.
I vowed not to need fences, that my life would be an open gate, but that was senseless. I was accessible to anyone who wanted to trample my garden.
Took a few dents and whole lot of pain for me to realize that gates and fences coexist for a reason. Boundaries are healthy, and at certain times, locks are mandatory.
(Photos for Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: fences and gates. Thoughts part of my process. I’ve been obsessively photographing fences and gates recently. I’ve been sketching them too, trying to figure out the draw. Guess now I know why.)
The best openings are the one’s we carve for ourselves.
We spent New Year’s Eve reminiscing about eighteen years of togetherness. Stayed up past midnight, and talked about our future. Hope coloured our words.
Sculpting has been on my mind – not literally, but in the sense of chipping away at the outer facade to invite emergence.
Ric has shed fifty pounds of excess weight, and I am now joining him in that quest. We are entering this new decade with renewed vigour. There is much we still yearn to sample.
I’m lining up my tools, examining the material before me: changes lie ahead. Bit by bit, I will ply my craft, shed the excess, intuit the contours of this life I’m co-creating.
Emergence takes time, commitment, and a willingness to be open.
(Image taken from The Grand Trunk trestle. This town we have settled in stirs my impulse towards the creative. So grateful to be here. Hope it inspires you as much as it did me. I will be back Monday with a new weekly challenge.)
The certainty of yesterday has slipped our grasp light deflecting truth tossing us into the abstract
I ponder process and outcomes, will my mind to carry me gliding between thermals dissolving into vapours
Some realities too hard to bear – dislodged, we tread the indeterminate.
(I submit these images and poem to the challenges of Lens-Artists and Ragtag Community. While we try to stay focused on the upcoming holiday celebrations, our hearts are heavy with recent loss and the news of cancer striking close to home. I am reminded that Christmas can amplify tragedy. Be extra kind to one another.)
Over brunch, my new acquaintance and I discover we have a lot in common – both former teachers, interested in art and poetry, with a love birds. She is just getting back into life after a long stint of caring for a sick husband, who died a year ago. I am finding my footing in a new town, after years of my own isolation.
The friendship feels natural, and when we meet up again at the next poetry circle, we make more plans.
For most of my life, I have felt like the lone bird, perched below the gathered flock, wondering why I’m left out. A loner, is how I described myself in high school – a cover for shame and never feeling good enough.
I’m too old for all that self-deprecation nonsense now. I am an adult women who needs relationships.
So these days, I am letting my guard down, and giving thanks for the friends in my life – old and new.
Sunflowers and chocolates kick off my birthday week. Delivered by daughter and her family made it all the more special. I share my birthday month with now seven-year-old Sloane and our youngest, so July is filled with blessings.
We are adjusting to the role reversals here – I now drive Ric to appointments, and do the waiting. Lots of time to think. Lots of time to count the “thank goodnesses”.
Thank goodness we were home when this happened. Ric had planned on driving down, by himself, to Arizona to sell the RV, but that was thwarted by paperwork.
Thank goodness he didn’t ignore the signs and wait until things were much worse. “Prevention,” the doctor told us, “saves a lot of damage.” We are waiting on further instructions, but the test results indicate he will need some sort of medical intervention to clear blocked arteries.
Thank goodness I had been practicing driving, so I already had the confidence built up – not to mention that Ric is a patient and gentle passenger.
Today I feel the blessing of being watched over and protected.