It’s been awhile, but today, I took my first step to writing here again–sitting my butt in a chair and opening my computer to this page.
We’re in “that part” of summer. The pots on our patio are a bit overgrown. The floral vine has finally made her way up the wrought iron door BF repurposed as a trellis. Garden tomatoes, green beans, sweet corn, and those huge, Indiana cantaloupes are aplenty at pop-up farm stands. The gardener’s toil has produced. July visits with kids and a grand have come and gone. School’s started–the beginning of the end. An end I’ve always dreaded, even though we’re complaining about the ninety-degrees and close humidity.
Last weekend, we enjoyed our final journey with The Freedom Express, camping in Ohio with family we haven’t seen in over a year. The camper has been good for us, but now it’s time to release her, with a blessing, for a new family to enjoy.
Soon, sweet corn will give way to gourds and pumpkins. Harvest and Thanksgiving. I turn 65 this November and I’m trying to ignore that a large percentage of steps logged each day result from searching for my phone, that my mirror reflects an image of my mother, and the reality of human longevity. I’m attempting to focus on the blessings of freedom to follow the sunshine on her winter pathway, Medicare, authenticity, truth, adventure, friendships and family connections that sweeten with the decades, and grandbabies who remind me to play and teach me to live in the present moment.
Certainly, our world supplies an abundance of fodder for worry, anger, and frustration. Fear. And sometimes, I’m not able to move around it and have to sit with it for awhile.
But right here, right now, I can.
May I practice gratitude as habit. Allow joy to guide. Invite love to motivate.
As often as I’m able.