I haven’t written anything in a long stretch. It wasn’t intended, never is, the blinking cursor abandoned for house projects like clean garages and a re-carpeted bedroom. Yesterday, I gave up an attempt to patch a hole in the rubber hose in favor of a water balloon toss.
This, the beat of our summer – setting aside productivity; saying yes to something lovely.
Last month, a road trip to my hometown to kiss cheeks around a cherry casket. Spotting familiar faces – old pastors, retired teachers, first bosses – every one of us knowing we can’t recap ten years in a single conversation. (Every one of us trying nonetheless.)
Sticking around, splitting chimichangas and salty margaritas with my sisters, all of us grown kids with kids.
Puddles, baths, not much else. There was, however, a short epiphany in the grocery store.
A man had run his cart into my ankle, something my children have done on multiple occasions, something that fills me with a fast and general rage – that cold shock of metal to tissue to bone.
My response to his apology is merciful. It’s totally fine!, I smile, realizing in that moment I am all too often kinder to complete strangers than my own offspring. Many times it seems I’ve lost my manners somewhere this side of the front door.
This week’s project, then: charitable words. Mercy. Small kindness, is all.
Soon, fall. Three-person bikes, a slanting sun. Sleeping with the windows open.