True story.
So, to start, I've been doing ok. Not great, but ok. I've appreciated the comments and e-mails, the love and the prayers and the virtual hugs. I've talked when I needed to talk, and hidden when I needed to hide. And when the tears come, I let them fall.
I've been busy. So busy. The Boy's mystery illness (not the mumps, but he's still swollen), cleaning, Music Festival, visit from the in-laws, Guiding, vacation planning, deck planning, church, LIFE. Breathing.
Busy helps with the not hiding under the duvet thing. Though I took a weekend to do that too. It seems the shock wore off one day and it took me a few days to pull myself together again.
I am sad but not depressed. It feels good and pure this sadness; a mourning for what we've lost, a rejoicing it what we've been given--a grieving. A process. It feels healthy. When people ask how I'm doing, I can say good and mean it.
But my brain shut off over a month ago and hasn't turned back on. I find myself forgetting simple things. I often have to think through a task before I begin, even ones that I thought were habit.
Dishes. Something needs to be done with the dishes. What do I do? Where do I start?
Then, slowly, it comes to me, and slowly, I get started.
So: busy but slow. Which makes the busy feel even busier.
Yesterday was an especially busy day. I had things scheduled on top of each other. But I found myself with an oasis of peace in the middle of my day. I had just over an hour to myself. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing, it was 26C (around 80F), and I decided to take my hour in my little flower garden. I puttered and pulled, I plucked and planted.
And I got filthy.
I dashed upstairs to rinse off all the dirt and sweat before I had to drive over to the school to pick up the Princess from track and field and drop her at piano. I had only a few stolen minutes and I was fast. I came out, herded the two littles towards the car and ran out the door, locking it as I went. I strapped the kids in and sat in the driver's seat and...where are my keys? Didn't I leave them in the car? I remember telling myself I could. The car was beside me as I gardened and I was going out again...where were the keys?
Eventually it came to me. The keys were in the pocket of my jeans.
No, not THESE jeans, the ones that were covered in dirt and sitting in the hamper. Upstairs. In the locked house.
Lucky for me I had the cell phone that day. Piano lesson was canceled, the school called, a kind parent gave the Princess a ride to the house. The evil steel building finally came in handy, as the kids played there in the coolness and amazingly bug-free zone. Hubby was able to leave work a little early and we just had to wait.
And I had my camera.
My poor camera, neglected since February, when my creativity was consumed with gestation and wanted nothing to do with anything else.
The sun was beating down, the bugs were feasting. The sane thing to do would have been to stay in the shade and try not to get eaten.
But something within me sparked back to life, and I picked up the camera. I started in the garden and then began to wander. The spark caught and a warm glow began.
I'm looking at the photos now and they're not going to win any awards. Any photographer worth her camera knows better than to try to photograph flowers in bright, glaring sun. It doesn't matter. I'm picking out a few and editing them, uploading to flickr as I go. I'll post some here when I finish up.
I'm not sure where I was going with this post. I'm covered in bug bites, in pain from my sunburn, a little fragile in many ways. But I'm smiling over tulips and cursing my slow computer for not keeping up with my brain as I edit.
I locked myself out of the house yesterday.
And it turned into the best part of my day.
