These Days


These days I go slow and give myself permission to put balls down. Juggling was never my forte anyway.

I’m still jigsaw puzzling, leaning in to the therapy of hours spent putting pieces in place and making something from the chaos of random shapes and colours.

I do my best to listen, even when I struggle to hear.

I eat oatmeal and wear cozy socks because these things give comfort.

I curl up on the sofa with the dogs beside me and a book in my hand.

I grant grace—to myself and others. It’s not always the first thing, but it is the better thing. I get there eventually.

I do a hurried inventory and buy seeds. Unenthusiastic, but believing things I want will disappear from the shelves soon. Garden fever will kick in eventually. Or maybe not. Still, I’ll plant and tend and learn and harvest, all in good time.

I wear daytime pajama bottoms and don a suitable top for Zoom calls. Zoom. Where would we be without it?

We go for car rides when the sun shines. (Car rides. Isn’t that a sweet term? My dad used to load us in the car on the weekend to go for car rides. I’d beg him to take one more turn in the single roundabout in the city.)

We take the dogs for walks.

Sometimes we leave the dogs at home and go on a day date, eating burgers in the park and following up with a walk.

I pick up a couple of things from the store. More often, I send Gerry with a list when he’s going out anyway.

I check tracking and wait for deliveries.

I wash watercolour paint on paper.

I talk on the phone with my daughter and granddaughter.

A groundhog says it’s spring. Our provincial health officer says we remain under restrictions for an as-yet-undetermined time.

These days look a lot like the one before.

Thanks so much for stopping by. I'm here most mornings with a photo and a few words about ordinary extraordinary things and, sometimes, thin places where faith intersects.
1 comment
  1. Giving yourself permission can be so powerful!
    Thank you for sharing.

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