All the Feels

 

I missed my Friday post. I was about to write regular, but it's really not that any more. My time here has been sparse and that's okay. I have been living on the surface reluctant to go deep, and I've come to the conclusion organically over time, that this still public, albeit clandestine, forum is not the place for it. My acute thoughts and fears and hopes and desires cannot be curated or edited, and I'm not trying to scare anyone. I'm just trying to do this thing called life with some grace and joy.

But I have such a grateful heart these days and I think it's fitting to yawp away on high. The house is quiet. Mike is catching up on sleep after a week of travel. Hazel and Gus are playing chase. I'm in my spot with a full day ahead of me. A day that feels like fall, but sounds and smells like spring. Think tu-a-wee and petrichor. The bluebirds are back in the yard with their curious calls and all the other birds too. It was a week of intermittent storms interrupting long, lovely days, but that smell of rain, which is so much more than rain, lingers. It is one of my favorites.

One afternoon this week, the clear sky darkened so quickly it was as if someone flipped a switch. Then the thunder started to rumble like soothing background music. It was just there: calming not threatening. The atmosphere was still, oddly uncharged. After a few minutes, the front moved on. No rain, no lightning, no wind, no hail. This time.

I love a good storm. Broody weather is my jam, And while this is true, I am not particularly fond of spring. Go figure. I'm a big fan of the longer days though. I took a couple walks in the park last week after work in lieu of catching up on the news and it was great to be out with all the rest of the world. Sunset is 7:30 these days. All the fields were occupied with teams and playgrounds were popular. Fishermen and golfers and dogs. The pond crane has returned and soon the goslings will too. Hmm...perhaps I like spring.

Thursday felt like summer. It was a good day to play hooky. I met the family for lunch at the Public Market to spend a little time with cousin GiGi. She was in town for a visit. It was a typical Evans affair: half the table cannot hear, plates were making the rounds (we are sharers), there was a fight over the bill, there were laughs and yes, tears. It's complicated and not my story to tell, and while it's not about me, it affects me. I've learned that the only person I can control or change is little old me, and so that's what I do. That's what I try to do. Try being the operative word.

This weekend is quiet, but of course, there is plenty to do around casa wags. And if we don't get to it today, there is always tomorrow, next week, next month.  Last weekend was good and full. We attended a gallery night in support of Candace and then popped across the street for some celebratory margaritas. Mike was a sport with all the damas. The night was cut short because my meteorologist man knew nasty weather was on the way and we made it home just before the skies opened up. We were giddy with ourselves for going out at the end of the week and happy that we did. The next day was Shakespeare Saturday. The guys were good sports to indulge in a little matinee theatre. The Immortal Bard lives on in his characters. Bottom literally stole the show, which by the way, we all very much enjoyed. We did a little pub crawl to dinner at Movida for sangria and paella and churros. We were home by 10 o'clock, which we realize and accept is sort of perfect at this time in our lives. 

I'm grateful for all of it...the rain, the blooms, day dates, friday happy hour, extra dirty martinis, another week another tart for Alan's birthday this time, birdsong, cat cuddles, the way the sun slips away slowly and then all at once, young love, old love, love of family - complications and all, following my heart, a full heart, my open heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.