This morning I feel like whatever I write will be inadequate. To write something cheery seems an insult to those in British Columbia who are already dealing with loss from mudslides and flooding, and insensitive to those in the north who are waiting for a second atmospheric river to hit the province. It would be easy to slip into despair and yet, that too seems ridiculous writing from the comfort of my home where we have heat and electricity and a pantry full of food.
Instead, I ground myself in what’s in front of me.
I’m listening to the wind and the sound of water dripping in the downspouts from snow melting on the roof. The tap-tap of Maya’s feet across the floor. The unidentifiable hum of a home where the electricity is on.
I’m sipping lukewarm tea, a Mateina Euforia blend of yerba mate, hibiscus flower, elderberry, peppermint, and organic blueberry and raspberry flavours. My stomach is telling me it’s close to the end of my fasting time and I’m wondering what to have for lunch.
I’m thinking about the book I’m partway through and thinking about picking up my Kobo and getting lost in it for a while. Or maybe tapping out a few more words in my Day One online journal. Or putting on headphones and listening to a podcast I’ve been wanting to sit with about trauma and its effect on us in light of all that 2020/2021 has brought.
I’m sitting with two Yorkies nearby: Maya, now curled up on the chair beside me and Murphy, asleep in my arms and with his tiny head tucked in the warmth of my neck making typing a challenge. I’m thinking about what it must be like for Maya, almost deaf and with (I think) failing her eyesight, who has grown skittish in her advancing years.
I’m wondering if I should go out this afternoon, just for the sake of getting out or stay hunkered down at home. I’m leaning toward staying home. I usually lean that way.
It is Monday and another week begins and I wonder what surprises it will bring. I think it’s probably best I don’t know.
