SAID THE CAT: It's Time to Begin Again

A convergence of thought rivers flow
beneath limit-stretched endurance.

Green blades lie under snow blankets

flourishing unseen

until Earth spins our tilt

into more sunlight.

Trickles of melt

fill streams and rivers--

fresh and new

is taking place.

Or, maybe old is too, but nothing is quite the same. And that's okay. Since I was here last, there have been political and cultural and societal and environmental and health... and....and...and...changes. Much, isn't it.

I'll send you this to begin again and try catching up as I go along in later installments. Over the past week or so family members, here and in other states, have gotten a first and/or second vaccine shot, and so have friends, and so have I, thanks to the diligence of my housing's staff/admin. Each time I hear of another shot in the arm of those I know and love, it is a hallelujah moment followed by anxiety for those still waiting for the chance, including our fellow citizens. Boy, I hope this works.

Yesterday, the snow was almost melted back to a few little shaded piles here and there. In the warm afternoon, Keoni and I took some walks near the farm where he's been exploring this past year.

Close to the farm is a power line.

You might be wondering, "What's the point?"

We can see Philadelphia! (It's the blip on the blue horizon.) The farm is on Ridge Road. Keoni says it's the first ridge of the Poconos.

And in the valley between Ridge Road and the next ridge there's a creek we walked to in a Nature Preserve. Keoni drove us around the little roads winding through.

Keoni getting a shot of the creek.

The sunlight felt so welcome.

One of Mark Bittman's food-world-related, email newsletters of the last few days asked us to write what we're most looking forward to now that we can cautiously, protocol-consciously come together soon for meals. I posted that I'm looking forward to this--

A family meal, a holiday, or an everyday. A daughter, her husband, and two (now OMG young men!) grandsons. Mostly, there'll be homegrown, homemade, or local foods on the table set out under the tree near the barn. The late afternoon sun will dapple us and the chickens will slowly make their way back toward their roosts, the goats in the close-by pasture will comfortably lie in the late sun to chew cud while the mare munches grass. The cat will wind around our feet and the dogs will lie about watching the perimeters for action. Our masks will be laid aside. Our bodies will have had time for their immune response since we're now almost finished with shots. My hearing aids will be in place since mask bands won't interfere or flip them away. It will be grand to hear and see what is said and laugh again until tears when the conversation veers into hilarity. We'll linger and talk and eat and laugh some more. A breeze will slide by, dusk will meld into night. Together, we'll carry the remains up into the kitchen, clean some, and put away some; then sit at the kitchen table for dessert that would possibly have been made by the grandson who explored uncounted pandemic dessert-makings. Soon music will start and we'll listen to the two young men with their viola and cello or maybe the piano. Was this what it was like before we had electronics? Maybe so. I will be enchanted like I was before the pandemic. I will know again that it doesn't get any better.

Tell me what you are looking forward to the most.

From the Catchup Desk:

The grandsons, Keoni and Aidan, are seeing fruition from their intensive practicing and auditioning. I'll let you know what's next on that front when in the weeks ahead choices are made.

The family came together virtually at Thanksgiving and we Zoom-shared some pictures we'd saved. My contribution was remembering the last time we were all in together was Thanksgiving 2012 when the Utah bunch visited with us in Tucson. By the same holiday, 2013, our faction lived in PA.