shifting hope


Last weekend we were able to travel to Eastern Washington to visit my family.  All of them have been vaccinated, either by being of an older age or working in health care, and my husband and I have been fortunate to have been here, as well.  I'm not ready for big travel yet, but going to see loved ones sure felt good, and very needed.  

A couple of days last week I spent painting the fireplace room in the basement, including the fireplace.  I've been getting out every morning for a walk in the cool air, exploring the other side of our hill that I'm less familiar with.  We've had suppers outside, Thursday night's around a fire, and I'm reminded that the shed out back that is to become our dining hall has yet to be painted.  Soon.  

The yard beckons with the arrival of warmer days.  It is for the most part shaded, so we are trying to make the most of the parts that get sun and find what works with minimal light.  There's little I love more than a day spent pottering in the yard with a story in my ears (I'm currently listening to The Immortalists by Chloe Benjamin).  

Underneath the talk of spring plans and house projects lies a cognizance that reality has shifted and things will never be quite the same, that there are loved ones who have literally given up, feeling the weight of a lifetime and its natural progressions, tipped by a year and a half of isolation and worry.  I don't have the words to make it better.  I can't make someone fight who doesn't want to.  All I can say is "I love you," "I understand," "I'm here for you," and "there is (please have) hope."   


slow notes:  


Wishing you feelings of hopefulness, bouts of merriment, and long stretches of contentment.  Until next time  ~

by mlekoshi