Of Hugs and Gentle Surprises
In a perfect combination of timing and elements this morning, a bee zipped underneath my right walking boot just before my foot made contact with the dewy grass. From my towering vantage point 5’ 2” above, I couldn’t see if she wiped her little bee brow with relief—maybe she didn’t even notice me at all, just figured that passing shade over her wings was a benign cloud on its way to somewhere. In that split second of near-miss, a thousand futures hung in delicate balance. We—the bee and I—unwittingly settled on the delivered outcome and kept moving into our expectations for the day. Patrick slept through it all, having tucked us all in with a late night round of prayer in the lodge.
Just another spring morning ‘round these parts where we try so hard not to miss the little things that live alongside the bigger things.
I hung laundry last evening under the glowing watchful eye of sunset, trusting that the gray clouds in the north hadn’t noticed what I was doing and that the breeze from the south would smooth the wrinkles out of the bedsheets on its way to blowing the seeds off the spent dandelion blooms in the field to the east. As I headed out the back door this morning, I saw one of the cotton clotheslines had snapped, leaving those clean sheets and a few t-shirts draped across the mint patch, clothespins hanging on for what looked like a valiant struggle as the whole enterprise tumbled to the ground while we slumbered. So I’d start my morning walk seven minutes later. What harm is that? When I remake the bed, I’ll be giving those sheets a good shake to set free any stray grass clippings still stuck on with dew-glue.
Yesterday was another one for the books. We joined my fully-vaccinated sister Peggy and brother-in-law Rob for lunch at their house, but we weren’t in the garage this time, talking across 6’ and more of concrete pad and space heaters as we have been for other gatherings these past 13 months. We got to walk into their home, through the kitchen and onto the screened-in porch after some much-anticipated embracing that went on for what seemed like glorious hours. As if that wasn’t enough, we sat down to a lovely new spring dish invented by our nephew-in-law, Tyler—slender grilled asparagus in place of pasta, topped with a creamy feta Alfredo sauce (we wisely accepted the offer of both forks and spoons). For the first time in more days than I’d care to count, I felt safe and just about normal. Soon enough, we were standing around the work island in their kitchen like Old Times, chatting, catching up on our news and laughing out loud. It wasn’t as if the pandemic hadn’t happened or wasn’t still going on. Quite the contrary. We all knew full well where we’d been and the burdensome weight that others still carry on their frontline worker or grieving family shoulders. With poignant respect, we heeded the advice given by those whose beloved are no longer within arms’ reach: tell your family you love them. Hug them while you can. A few more blinders came off as we recommitted ourselves to a life where less and less is taken for granted.
Earlier yesterday morning, Patrick and I stopped by the farmer’s market where we’ll be selling our granola this summer. We delayed our start by one week, giving us time to put the finishing touches on all the prep work (signage, plans for a safely-distanced yet warm set-up for customer engagement, testing the PayPal card reader). An opening day walk-about was part of the plan, to scout out where our stand would be and get a feel for the foot traffic flow. Turns out we’ll be setting up in a parking lot space right across from the Graeter’s Ice Cream shop (ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching nirvana. Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare to land right in the lap of your wildest dreams), AND two stalls away from the vendor who does knife-sharpening. If they were giving away free kittens I couldn’t have been more delighted. Top it off with the observation that everyone we saw had their masks on properly, right down to the toddlers toddling along beside their parents, clutching little canvas tote bags waiting to be filled with market treasures. Sweet.
I don’t know what your particular circumstances are, dear reader, and how you notice the unexpected joys that weave their way through your day’s challenges and contentment. I only hope that you do notice them when they come through and let them land safely in that place of tender appreciation in your heart. The headlines will always be blaringly harsh but maybe a lucky bee on its way to gathering pollen from some generous blossom will catch your eye and pull you in, keeping the news right-sized for that split second, that perfect moment of timing and elements.
Wait for it. It’ll come.
