I went on a sabbatical recently. It was called work.
I was quite shocked with the veracity of how I got sucked into the whirl of it all. So for three months I have run my family and been to work, and there wasn’t much time for anything else. And that was okay. Now I am a bit more practiced at juggling all those balls, have found my work groove thang and am back in the game again.
Probably spurred on by a couple of inspired gardening sessions in the rain in the last few weeks. I don’t know what happens, but when those drops pour down in the night, I feel compelled to get out and tinker in the soil. I love that gurgle and giggle as the weeds coming glopping out, with worms hanging on for dear life. We say hello and part good friends.
I have been practicing new spaces over the past three months. Trying to hang on to the beautiful bits of my time off with Alice. I can’t make bread everyday anymore, and stock is infrequent. My house sure isn’t as tidy, but my brain sure is working a bit better.
And I decided that exercise needed to be something I did make time for. So I’ve been dabbling and enjoying Healthy at 44. I’m finding muscles I thought had composted. I rediscovered a waist line I thought had spread like some Exxon disaster. There is also this new passenger called self respect. I’m learning to like it.
Sometimes I still feel like it’s all too much, but my time spent playing with herbs and ritual and the goddess; and cooking and connecting with my community have all served me well. I feel grounded. I feel kind of optimistic. I feel blessed.
And I just can’t wait for my next wet, wet, wet gardening sojourn.