outliving

friends who live out by the cemetery say

the dead do make the quietest neighbors

agreeable too--fences are barely necessary 

                        but no fences disentangle us

                        from our now and those past

                        or indeed can adjust between

                         how we thrive or just survive  

                        for the dead always stowaway

                        mixed in memory, regret, desire

                         or we're here with those dying 

                         as we may hear (only) later

life exists unceded--rain, roses, blood... have

stayed the same way. And even when dying--

still stars climb, punctuating skies for lifetimes

_____________________

Note: An accidental and untidy sonnet. From working through some big feelings, probably. Funny how there's no getting away from high school Frost and Eliot for me.

Pic: On this bright-blue-sunshiny day, I got a lovely swing-and-snooze in the new hammocks I hung up (to replace the ones we've had since before the pandemic).

all's right

Alright. So... While I won't go into too many details, the reason for Big A's hospitalization last week was because when he volunteered for Covid relief in NYC back in May 2020, he'd contracted it there. This was at the height of the pandemic and pre-vaccine--and he's had unusual heart, GI, and dermatological issues since. They seem related, but that's just a vibe at this point because treatment seems frustratingly confined to specific anatomical systems (heart/GI/derm/etc.) and not holistic in the least. 

Anyway, I had a lovely day at home--just excited to be here and even finding doing mundane stuff like laundry oddly--and deeply--satisfying.

Pic: Max and Huckie playing with Big A. It all feels right in my world.

home again, home again

This morning, even before my second cup of tea--and therefore before I was properly awake--one of the nurses said they'd probably send us home today. 

And they did! 

I am so grateful. And ridiculously excited that I'm now free to do all the ordinary things. (And also hyper-aware of how close to the edge we are--just one shoddy decision or dreadful diagnosis away from chaos.)

Pic: Not doctor's orders, nor something I was comfortable with, but Big A wanted to eat at a restaurant and I found myself unable to deny him that after everything he's been through. The kids were free, so we all headed out to Mitchell's where we had a great--and slightly gluttonous--dinner. Super healthy meals for everyone starting tomorrow. 

hanging in there/hanging by a thread: a week of random things I thought about with A in the hospital

Wednesday, July 10: Big A's healthcare team doesn't have a clear way forward, so neither do we. But I found the buttons to move his bed up and down, and that was a solid two minutes of good giggles. 

When I can't be with A, I feel more alone than I can ever remember being. Usually, even when he's away working nights, I can fire off a text, chat a bit, compare Wordle scores, joke about something, share something I dreamt. Not this time.

Thursday, July 11: We decided not to tell our elderly parents until we had something to report, but that means I've told very few people IRL, and as a consequence do not have my usual posse to help me through. A is very private and doesn't care, but it's proving super tough for me. 

The people I did tell have surrounded me with special dropoffs and cards and care and prayers and love. And I can't thank my lovely blog friends enough for the kind messages and Care Bear stares 💗. And At and Nu have been simply amazing, taking care of themselves and the puppy sibs and being so loving... they even tried extra hard on family chat.

Friday, July 12: It still feels like being insulated from "real life"--like I'm living in a bubble. There's a sense of unreality about the rest of the world--like how are people just going to the farmers' market, or the pool or walks, and binging TV, and reading novels, and other stuff? This is all stuff I usually do too--but it seems impossible and unreal just now. 

Also: I have all the time in the world, just sitting around and waiting (has any other room been so aptly named as the waiting room?). And yet, there's no time to do things I'd like to do.

Saturday, July 13: We finally have a new protocol to try that's not just emergency management of symptoms, so I'm hopeful things will improve. They have to.

Obviously, everything makes me cry, including this dancing toddler. And obviously, I've imagined the worst over and over again. In fact, I imagined it before we even got to the hospital. 

Sunday, July 14: A seems better (I hope it's not just wishful thinking).

And I catch myself thinking about all the ways life is bound to change after this: I've always thought of A as the stronger partner--I'm going to really step up now. And I wonder what this will mean for trips we've planned together... 

Monday, July 15: A *is* better. OMG. Tests confirm this, but we still have a few more days of monitoring before we're home. 

Things I want to do when we get back to a more normal. 

                       1) Teach the kids to cook. I love hearing how Steph Love's kids make amazing meals (kinda like the kids in Catherine Newman's books) and I want At and Nu to be able to do that too. We could spend all sorts of quality time together.

                      2) Make time for dance. When we went out together the last time, it was so fun to dance at the concert (was that just a couple of weeks ago?!) and I don't know why we don't do it more often. Even if it's ONE song, I want dance in my life everyday. 

                      3) Try dry needling for my shoulder pain.

                     4) Plant taller deer-resistant flowers in the garden.

I'm behind on so much and wish I had more goal-driven to-dos, but I guess escapism is key right about now. 

strange new world

Weird how a day can begin like every other and then end up as something unknown. A is sick and in the hospital. It feels like being in a parallel world. 

la-la-la-la-la

I turned into a mom-taxi today taking Nu to job interviews and Max to his vet appointment. And while I was out and about, I saw things that terrified me:

* random red and gold leaves on the ground

* all the summer stuff at Target is 50% off and they're stocking the back-to-school displays

* an email reminding me that our opening convocation is on August 21

It's still so bright and lovely out and I haven't done all the summer things and don't want to think of summer ending already. 

(Also despite the four-leaved clovers, the bad luck hits keep coming.) 

I'm going to cover my ears and go la-la-la-la for a while.

Pic: The Red Cedar under a beautiful sky yesterday.

the news... and nourishment

Heartbreaking news about Alice Munro... and tragically one reminiscent of the world she evoked in her fiction where children are betrayed and damaged by adults (plural!) who were supposed to care for and protect them. I hope Andrea Robin Skinner finds peace and experiences continued healing.

and

Unfathomably soul-crushing news from The Lancet (medical journal of record) warning that conservatively, "the true death toll in the Gaza genocide could be 186,000 or more." And that this "staggering figure amounts to 8 percent of the population of Gaza. A similar percentage of the US population would be 26 million people." I'm coping through a cocktail of hope (there has been an increase in public support for Gaza including from the French left--the surprise election winners), drugs (including OTC Ashwagandha), busy-ness (deadline after deadline), and the loving support of family and friends.

Pic: Some of my farmers' market haul from this weekend. I used the summer abundance for dinner today--ratatouille, which I served with focaccia (also from the market) and tzatziki. Our meal was already solidly Mediterranean, repping French, Italian, and Greek foods, so I cut up some Valencia oranges to add Spain to our dinner mix.