I’m a morning person. I love the quiet first thing, before the wild things of the day come growling, when I can ponder and pray, read and write. Since I was sick last month, my early morning time has been severely curtailed because I am oversleeping (according to my preference). At first, I thought my body was just doing what it needed—and maybe it still is—but I’m tired of sleeping in (Ha! See what I did there?).
Last night I decided to turn in at ridiculously-early-thirty, hoping that would help. It did. Somewhat. But I’m still a long way from waking at 4 a.m. which is my preference. Perhaps this is one of those things where patience is called for while I allow my body to take what it needs in terms of rest, but I don’t want it to become habit so I’ll keep nudging myself to rise earlier and grant grace when I oversleep. For now.
In other news, I have a new book coming out next month. I vacillated between releasing this book to the public and doing a limited print run for family only. It’s a personal chronicle of 2020 and 2021 that I believe is an important record to leave of what it was like living through those upside down inside out years. Living Liminal: A Slice of Pandemic Life releases on March 11.
“I heard you say something, but I couldn’t make it out. It sounded like you said there’s a tiger in the backyard.”
I laugh because by now, it wouldn’t surprise me. A tiger? Sure. Why not?
Because a pandemic and a heat dome and drought and a province on fire and grasshoppers and apocalyptic skies and endless ash and charred pine needles falling aren’t enough. Let’s add a tiger to the mix. Nothing surprises me anymore.
In 2020, every person in every place in the world was shaken. British Columbians in Canada learned to live in the liminality of waiting for a semblance of normal life to return while weathering an unprecedented heat dome and fire season, followed by flooding and mudslides. By the summer of 2021, a tiger in the backyard seemed entirely plausible.
This book chronicles quotidian days, in times that were anything but. It contains the thoughts and experiences of a wife, mother, and grandmother navigating a world groaning under the weight of change through journal entries, poetry, blog and social media posts, interspersed with government directives to provide context. It offers a glimpse into one ordinary life during two extraordinary years.
The picture we are left with when the world settles into whatever the After looks like should not be the one presented through the filter of the mainstream media. To understand the human cost these years demanded of us, we must consider the experience of ordinary people in the culture and context of the time. Living Liminal is one contribution to that story.