Z.

An egg shell, cracked, and clean, below a nest up high. Beside the chair that holds the woman who holds her cat. Eighteen years gone by.

They’ll be here soon, to help him go, beneath the dancing leaves. The day is bright, crisp cool sun, a day I’d choose myself my day.

The blanket dries, freshly clean, dyed indigo in community. In celebration of a life, holding life, raw hope and love.

… I lost the words. I’ll miss you.

Failure to keep both gloves dry.

It’s been raining. All day. Yesterday. Days.

No one is at the gardens. In them.

I spray the lock.

I spray the handle.

I wonder: where will it wash to?

All the Lysol. All the alcohol.

The bleach and anti-

“Into the streams,” comes the answer.

From where? From whom?

From here.

A crown of onions, for which I was sent, unearthed.

A cascade of sky water rivulets with.each.thumb.press.

Adding fingers in their chill to the list of aches I feel from the world.

As I return home to the warmth awaiting, kindled long ago, preciously tended with moments stolen and savored as we exhale on.

Help the helpers.

I was a Mr. Rogers Neighborhood kid. Hopefully a lot of the good lessons sunk in although I don’t consciously remember many of them.

The one I do remember is that during times of fear or cruel realities, to look for the helpers.

Right now, across the world, those helpers are the medical workers, caretakers, and all of the team in support of our hospitals, elder care, and food access.

And they don’t have the help they need. They don’t have the masks, shields, and other Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) that they need to stay healthy themselves. The items that would prevent them from falling ill, infecting others, or having to stop helping.

We all know these people. We usually know many of them personally. It’s my nephew. It’s my Sister-in-law. It’s my friend’s husband and it’s my cousin’s husband. It’s more than that and for you, it might be even closer to home. Or personal.

Politics aside on how it got this bad, we need to put our feelings (fear, anger, blame, worry, all of it) toward love, hope, and helping.

This came to me today from my dad:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/tjmccue/2020/03/20/calling-all-people-who-sew-and-make-you-can-help-solve-2020-n95-type-mask-shortage/#2679d71a4e41

And maybe you do sew. Or maybe you don’t, but you have a weirdly large supply of elastic. Or some random wire to share.

Or a 3D printer.

So today, I’ll be dusting off (literally) my sewing machine. And dusting off my sewing skills (figuratively) to make what masks I have supplies to make.

The more we help one another, the more help there is.

Well that’s settled then.

The potatoes have returned from their freeze a month past.

And I’ve admitted that my current work is not healthy for me, aligned with me as a person, or necessary.

I don’t have much practice at quitting things. I hear that sticking up for yourself gets easier with practice. And practice takes starting.

Slowing between seasons.

And ready to.

We’ve been doing this every 3-5 days for weeks and weeks. The freezer is full, our friends are full, we’re full, everyone around us seems full of tomatoes.

And just like that, the heat comes, the season slows, and I start to scheme on the next season.

Drain.

A little thumb “pushed the white circle” to capture this for us.

I’m drained today. In that mix of needing to take me time and not having the oompf to do it. Silly mix. Stutter step. Gotcha catch.

Attention.

The okra have been standing at attention, reaching their teenage growth spurt.

A few have over grown their britches.

They’ve begun to topple.

Weighed down by my neglect, they lean.

Then the pole beans reach up.

Pulling them down.