And now it is June, and the hot weather is glorious. Two cold, dark winters in a row have made me a summer convert. I can't get enough sun warmth, sun light. At high noon you'll often find me on the back deck, sans sunscreen (gasp!), red umbrella down, soaking in it for ten or fifteen minutes. I've got quite the farmers tan going. The concentrated Vitamin D is doing wonders for my skin, my sleep, even my mood.
And now it is June and the official word has been handed down and the hum of anxiety continues, not louder or shriller, just contstant, like that ringing thing people get in their ears that won't go away - tinnitus - and they have to turn up the TV really loud to drown it out - distract it - and that's what I try to do. I breathe and read, and bake, and watch old movies and yap on facebook, and go to work at my same favorite part time job, and tickle Harvey's toes, and it goes away for a time. I try to be positive, because that's what everyone else wants, but avoiding the subject and projecting a hope that only occasionally matches my feelings is its own kind of work.
And now it is June and there are possibilities on the horizon, but I'm afraid to look. Two weeks ago, Mr. P's job track offered up the very real scenario that we would pack up our house and be back in San Diego (after nine years away) by the end of this summer. It was a dizzying prospect, a long held dream, and I completely failed at being nonchalant. And as suddenly as it appeared on the horizon, it blinked out. Poof. Gone.
Little things save me.
Finding a decent-priced and hard-to-find-new DVD copy of Alice Adams, one of my very favorite Katharine Hepburn movies.
A play date with an artist friend this weekend.
Gobbling up blackberries and greek yogurt with honey Jackson-Pollock-ed all over the top.
And now it is June and there are hydrangeas. Mine are blooming, burning neon-blue in the morning, then wilting, faded pom-poms in the heat of the day. It's sort of amazing how they recover so quickly. Surely there is a lesson there, about bouyancy, resilience. These hydrangeas though, are not mine, but from the Norfolk Botanical Gardens, a whole forest of them. They remind me of bathing caps of the sort Esther Williams might wear, with a sweet little pearl button in the middle of each petal. I can picture Esther lifting that one in the center of the photo off its hat-stand-stem, slipping it over her head and tucking in her stray hair while she sashays to the end of the diving board, curves into a sparkling Hollywood pool, and resurfaces a few seconds later, her pretty hydrangea bathing cap glistening to match her smile.
And now it is June and also Thursday, and my husband is at college and blogging is one of those little things that makes me glad.