It was Thanksgiving on Monday and the week has felt discombobulated ever since. Even in retirement, a holiday feels like a missed step and it takes time to reorient oneself.
Life these days feels like pushing through. It takes effort. This morning I’m pondering some deep things like joy and hope. Truth is, I’m running low on both.
This year. These times. And yet. And yet . . .
And with that, welcome to another edition of Friday’s Fave Five where I look back at sparks of joy from this week.
Turkey dinner. I’m not a huge fan of the traditional Thanksgiving meal and make no apologies for the shortcuts I’ve chosen the past couple of years. It may not look (or taste) like it used to, but Gerry and I enjoy a reasonable facsimile of the fall feast with little fuss. Win-win.
Garden season is officially over. We plant garlic, harvest the last of the beets, and spread nutrition on the soil. As I walk away from my community garden plot for the final time this year I whisper: “Thank you for feeding us well this year. See you in the spring”,
Text messages and email. One of the best things about a holiday is that it prompts us to reach out and connect. Messages back and forth with family members lift my sagging spirits and give me a sense of connection.
Country roads and coffee. We take afternoon drives. I sip coffee and we enjoy companionable silence and good conversation. One day we attempt a walk around a lake and it’s cold. We’re not dressed for it so we turn back. Still, I’m glad for the time.
Voting. We go early and cast our vote in the advance poll for our provincial election. An election that’s not nearly as drama-filled as another one going on right now but one in which we’re honoured to be able to have our say in. While we’re waiting in line (with everyone dutifully masked), an elderly man and his wife emerge from the polling station and he drops a handful of pocket change on the floor. Another couple, walking out right behind him, sidesteps and the woman waves her hands expressing aversion at the thought of picking up change from the floor. The man is flustered. There’s no way he can bend and pick up the money. A young woman steps out of the lineup to help him. The line moves forward and, eventually, we make our X using a tiny pencil that we’re told to take with us. I feel inexplicably cranky when we leave. (In retrospect, this experience may not qualify as a “spark of joy” after all.)
A new toy for Maya. Our Yorkie is 12 and not as spry as she used to be. We decide she needs something new to play with so we buy a new little squirrel-like thing that squeaks and makes a crinkly noise. She is intrigued. Memories of her puppy-hood spark all kinds of joy.
And so, Friday, and another week wraps. Another week closer to winter. I have to look harder to find sparks of joy these days, but they’re there. Hope too. It seems harder to find but it’s there. Prayer and contemplation (one in the same, really) help me find it.