garden, knitting, life, reading

Are We Still Counting Days?

There’s an asterisk in my journal next to the day they started opening things back up in Massachusetts. I don’t feel confident about this process at all, and nothing in our household is going to change for the time being. Caseloads have been shrinking locally, but there are so many variables at work, I doubt that anyone has solid ground to predict farther than a couple of days out. For the time being, I continue to count.

And knit. The past few days have seen a great deal of progress. The blanket is 1/3 complete, and on schedule. (It’s folded in half here.)

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I made some headway on my scrap blanket as well, finishing up the second skein remnant and freeing up a few inches of storage space thereby.

The weather has been fantastic, an apology for the long, chilly spring–albeit a brief one, since we’re expecting the first heat wave of the year mid-week, not even into June. I don’t think any of my original seedlings are going to survive, but I planted some more stuff. The chard is springing up enthusiastically, at least. Spring in New England usually seems to go this way. There’s a long, deary slog during which it hardly seems like anything is happening except for daffodils that don’t care if they get snowed on occasionally, a week in which everything blooms at once, and then the trees are in full leaf, as if they had never gone anywhere at all.

Knitting is good for contemplation; whether the contemplation is good for anything, I’m not so certain. What do I want to do with my life? I seem to be drowning in projects and opportunities for self-education, with little idea of how to choose. What does your heart tell you? my coaching class prompts, and I’m really not sure.

I have been reading more again this past week, which feels lovely–I finished both of my book clubs’ selections on time this month. Innovating Women for the professional group (mostly anger-inducing, for a variety of reasons), and Breakfast with Buddha for the work group (meh). Sometimes in the afternoon, it’s quiet. The kids have finished their faux schoolwork and disappeared into video games, my work deadlines are met, and I can sit on the couch for a while (until my email chimes, or someone needs a snack, or my own restless lack of focus resurges). My mom got me a book of essays by Mary Oliver for my upcoming birthday. I am going to have to dole those out to myself in very small doses, since they all make me cry.  I’ve also started a re-read of Howl’s Moving Castle, which is a wise, kind little book and just the thing for times like these.

I should have some time yet to think, while we continue to count the days.

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