Good gravy, it’s been a few weeks. On November 1, my fragile dad got COVID (for the first time). On November 2, Ash was admitted back to the hospital, following several weeks of spiraling depression. A week later she came home, and then the girls and I left the next day for a long-awaited trip to NYC for their first Broadway show. They had an amazing time, and were super-awesome travel buddies, but being a single mom taking three kids to Manhattan is no joke.
Then we came home.
Then I cleaned and unpacked and dived back into work.
Then it was today and I had no essay ready, but I did have this necessary poem, thrumming in my head:
Any Morning
Just lying on the couch and being happy.
Only humming a little, the quiet sound in the head.
Trouble is busy elsewhere at the moment, it has
so much to do in the world.
People who might judge are mostly asleep; they can't
monitor you all the time, and sometimes they forget.
When dawn flows over the hedge you can
get up and act busy.
Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
People won't even see that you have them,
they are so light and easy to hide.
Later in the day you can act like the others.
You can shake your head. You can frown.
— William Stafford
That is all. Thank you for holding until I can get my act together and write something.
I love this. It's just right. <3