It’s been an unexpected whirlwind week.
Yesterday afternoon, I sat in my wing chair, reading and highlighting, while beet pickles processed in the canner. Content, I looked over at my open kitchen with its tidy counters and big blue Ball canner boiling on the stove. We picked the last of the beets the day prior and now they’re pickles. Check. Another job finished.
Suddenly it’s full-on autumn. Lingering outdoor tasks take on a new urgency with reports of early snow and now a surgery date looming in the not-too-distant future. A hard frost the night before finished my flowers. I consider commitments and count down days and pick a day when we’ll clean out the bed for good.
Gerry comes home and reports the traffic is horrendous and, no, he won’t accompany me to buy rabbit pellets to throw on the garden. Tomorrow, he says, but tomorrow is already fat with things to do so maybe Saturday. Desperate times call for breaking my No Shopping On Saturday rule.
So I remain in my wing chair, with my book and my Yorkie, thinking deep thoughts while maintaining my peace. All will be well, exceedingly well, all manner of things will be well. A woman we call Julian knew it to be that way centuries ago. I know it to be the same today.