Better Work

There’s a dog sitting on my head when I wake. Maya must have been scared by the wind in the night but it’s calm outside our window now. It’s about 4:30 and starting to get light. There’s light cloud cover and not the oppressive gray we’ve been under for days. We haven’t had summer yet—or not

A Day

Gerry brings home two flats of plump, sweet raspberries. I wash and crush some; cook and stir and sweeten them; fill jars with jam and set them in the water bath canner to process. It’s ridiculously cool outside for late June but in the kitchen where I work you’d never know it. While the jam

I’m Weary

I’m so weary. Of all of it. And I feel guilty for my tiredness because there’s work left to do. There’s truth to be touted (after wading through the weeds to figure out which truth is the true truth). There are causes to support (after investigating to get to the root of said causes to

My Book is Born

I arrive home from the garden disheveled, with wind-swept hair and spinach and radishes in hand, to find beautiful, celebratory flowers on my dining table. A gift from Gerry to mark my book’s birth day. He insists on a photo, so I change my shirt, attempt something with my hair, and he says goofy things

Mental Health Break

It’s a beautiful afternoon so, after watering the garden and pulling a few weeds, we head to the nearby park to walk. It’s okay. We’re encouraged to get outside and enjoy our city parks. People on blankets in the grass, and towels on the beach, appears to be practicing appropriate social distancing. Something new, since