It’s been pretty quiet around here. Fallow season, I guess. Things germinating below the surface while very little writing gets done. At least not here.
Two weeks ago I had surgery, a hernia repair. Recovery is going very well, but I’ve been off my feet. Reading and thinking. Trying to sort of keep the kids on track.
I feel like maybe I’m done processing and turning back to this space to write and think out loud. I’ve missed this space but didn’t know what to say or how to begin. So many things I could be writing here, but… anyway.
December, time for the ending. But a new beginning. First week of Advent. Hopeful expectation. Watching. Waiting. Praying. Kindling fires. It seems like a good time to start again. In the spring I had a spate of poetry. I felt so alive with creativity. Summer was long and fallow. We were focused mainly on school. Hunkered down and sticking to the routine. Most everything cancelled in this weird year.
This fall was much better than last fall. But still fall comes with allergies, with busyness. Getting Bella started on high school, trying to get the other kids on track. While feeling like… I’ve been at this homeschooling thing for quite a while. It’s hard for the elementary stuff not to feel stale. I’m still working on that part.
Fall was a mourning season this year. And bracing for a long, cold, dark winter. As I reveled in amazing color, I still felt the chill creeping in and the sadness. I hardly experienced summer this year.
We had an unexpected snowfall at the end of October, right before Halloween, almost 6 inches. And it’s been a warm and wet December.
I haven’t been able to write anything satisfactory for some time. I’ve been reading mostly light reading. Georgette Heyer. Genre fiction. Seasons turn. I’m turning again. Trying to find a direction, wondering where I’m headed and what the new year will bring. Hoping I’m not too far off track.
And if you’re saying: Covid, you’re probably not wrong. Of course things feel wrong and strange and sad and disconnected and mournful. Everyone feels that way right now.
Though we’ve had some amazing successes this fall as things have reopened a bit and children who were anxious about masks have worked hard to overcome their anxieties through therapy and medication. Our first Sunday of Advent was the first time all seven of us have been to Mass together since March. A long Lent for one child who was so overjoyed to receive Jesus in the Eucharist again.
Maybe it’s time for some light blogging. Tossing words at paper without too much thought or consideration. We’ll see how long it lasts.
I really enjoyed your words and pictures -fallow, quiet, wordless, waiting, in particular resonated with me. I’ve read and written little and seem to be more and more silent. I hope this strange time is fruitful eventually. I garden when it’s fine and knit when it is not. One enjoyable thing is that Frank Skinner has made a second series of poetry podcasts. All the best for your recovery.
I often wish I knitted or crocheted to give my hands something to do while I watch or listen. I used to quilt, long ago, but that particular craft doesn’t seem to fit in this time of my life. It’s too demanding, of space, time, attention, everything. I’ve tried to learn before and Bella has been fairly successful at crocheting small projects like doll blankets and scarves. Maybe I should try again. But learning a new skill feels lofty and ambitious for this season.
I will look up Frank Skinner’s podcasts.
Thank you for your kind words and kind wishes.