Thanksgiving

I wake from a dream in which I had returned to work in a similar role as one I was once very proficient in. I was, shall we say, less so in the dream and in my early wakefulness ponder what I remember and what’s lost to me about the technical aspect of my former

Spring Salad

In honour of the special occasion, Gerry takes an early morning trip to Costco during senior hour (the first Costco run since early March) to buy feta, and a handful of other things we’ve been missing (And yes. Toilet paper. The first package to come into our home since the madness began.) Now I snip

Aromatherapy

I carry baby tomato plants in a small box on my lap while Gerry drives to the community garden. My hands brush across their leaves. The scent of hope wafts from them. The plants have been growing in my laundry room since I dropped tiny seeds into pots in early April, unmotivated, with barely enough

Garden Magic

I climb out of the car, and walk toward my community garden plot with my eyes are trained on the plot next to mine. A young man, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a little girl—maybe two-years-old—are in it. I get closer and see they’re both barefoot, and I’m thrilled by the ordinary extraordinariness

Antidote

Today I’m going to give myself the gift of doing “want to do” things rather than “have to do” things. An antidote to a funky afternoon and evening when it seemed the weight was too heavy. I’ll toss seeds in the ground in my garden, dig in flower pots at home, and make a loose plan.