Hope

I wake, for the first time in a long time, with a spark of hope in my spirit. Not a lot, but a glimmer, and a sense of new beginning. Spring arrives next week, maybe that’s part of it. Or maybe the time change caused something to shift in a Back-To-The-Future-ish manner. I don’t know, but I’ll take it. A glimmer is enough for today.

Life carries on as we inch toward spring. Backyard project planning is in full swing and, predictably, I’m feeling stress in the planning. I remind myself how nice it will be in summer when outdoor projects are done and we can spend all day outside if we choose.

Gerry and I go out for an afternoon date to the grocery store to buy fresh bright yellow daffodils to replace the withered, crispy ones on the dining table. He surprises me by taking a detour on the way home, stopping for an ice cream cone and a visit to my favourite park where we sit in the sunshine and chat about ordinary things.

In the woman cave I play with paint, creating an image of the crispy daffodils. They inspire, even as they’ve reached the limit of their splendour. Don’t we all, really?

And so hope. I’m starting to feel it. Limiting my exposure to the news and being disciplined in what I choose to allow into my mind is helping. That, and embracing creativity, stepping back, giving back, allowing myself to be quiet with no explanation. Accepting. Appreciating.

I write these things even as I’m aware of tension in my shoulders and a low-grade headache reminding me it hasn’t gone anywhere. There’s still a pit in my stomach and concern for things over which I have no control. And the overwhelm. It takes very little to push me into the land of overwhelm.

I no longer do some things. Now, I do other things. I set things aside and pick others up. That’s the way it’s always been but it seems more intentional now. More important. The way I’ll make it through.

It’s Tuesday, the 16th of March. The last Tuesday of winter. Hope springs.