The azaleas in our front yard are blooming fuschia and white, despite the fact that I hacked them back last year in an attempt at "trimming." Just goes to show me that despite my mistakes, there is a resilience in my life that is continual, has held firm. Thank goodness!
I haven't posted here in a while, partly out of forgetfulness, laziness, and a dire, long-term case of unoriginality. My creative pulse is still very hard to hear. I don't want to blame it entirely on the little girl growing in my belly--causing me to resemble a blonde Oompa Loompa, or the Michelin Man--but I do think my brain cells are operating elsewhere, and in a completely different way. Artist and writer friends of mine, who are also mothers, have revealed to me (in differences of opinion) that my brain will never be the same again; or, on the other hand, that when this is all said and done I'll be more creative than ever. We shall see.
Lately it seems that life has been about the extreme, and specifically when I crave simplicity. The news is focused on pirates, ravaged economies, political parties are bashing their opposites over the head with pompousness, anti-abortionists are accusing pro-lifers of murder (as usual), hunters are gassing wolf dens, anyone on television under the age of 40 is dressing like an idiot, etc, etc, etc. Personally, I'm convinced that all this would resolve itself if folks would just be nice to one another. That and stop stop STOP drinking the ignorance Kool-Ade. But what do I know?My only inclination at this point is to hope and pray that my eventual little girl can grow up in a world where ignorance, extremism and arrogance are the exception, not the rule. Where people actually listen to each other.
Enough of my ranting. Too many of these blogs are people spewing opinions and everyday minutia no one really wants to hear, and so I'll relent at least for now, and apologize.
My little town, like so many others, is literally in bloom. The buds of trees are red, orange, pink--and that incredible, life-affirming new green that's almost impossible to capture in a photograph. It's a new kind of leaf-changing that has taken over the mountainsides, and the light hits the ridgelines in a new, hopeful way. Gorgeous. On my way to work two mornings a week, I get to witness deer grazing in fog-filled meadows, wild turkeys crossing from forest to field to creek. I'm thankful.
In this quiet, sometimes lovely, and often boring time of gestation I find my brain whirring from issue to issue--so quickly and confoundingly that all I can think to do is to shut down before I implode. I consider our house, which I love, but which must be cleaned, thinned-out, and organized before we bring a new life into it; our yard, which needs also to be picked up, managed, planted, tended; my career, floundering for a while now, which must be shored, strengthened, revitalized; my friendships, which I've let slide during this time of forgetfulness and question; my relationship with my husband, which I want to enjoy and celebrate before everything changes in both little and big ways; my faith, always moving and shifting like a mountain river; my family, these mountains where we live, hopes for the future, life. Now the fact that a huge change is coming--in August, no less--has me wondering whether I'm ready. I want to change and I don't all at the same time.
For now, here's to a happy Spring for all--to the hope that our country can heal, that the pompous blowhards will humble, that we can all get out and celebrate Earth Day, that life will renew and continue again better than ever. I know it will!
