Am 63 years old now. It rained a great deal on my Tuesday birthday as it often does. The ground was in need of massive soaking and it's our combined gift to have it so. Hope you enjoyed some glimpses of my exuberant (and lengthy) morning inspection tour. It began around 7:30 and everything looked sensational. Despite the amount of wind and rather violent rain there were no casualties beyond a few stalks of the Great Fleece Flower. And a daunting amount of windblown debris. We had roughly 3 inches of rain.
(we also on/for my birthday had our first take out pizza since before the winter holidays. T eats takeout roughly half the time from a small constellation of trusted places but this was a major adventure into former normalcy for the two oldsters. We liked it but I wouldn't want to get back in the habit. This is the kind of thing that only truly made sense when J had to drive past the places in order to get home.)
It's an ongoing practice for me to take the first couple of days in July as extra time to rest and reflect. A revolution around the sun has finished and another is beginning. I like to be still and undistracted enough to soak up that liminality here in the green hearted season. More generally I also like to consider the dreamy restful needs of the newly born. What if our birthdays offer us a chance to unfold anew - just as an infant does. Feeling and breathing air with increased understanding and acceptance. Coming to understand form and light. wind and water on the skin.
I thought about that a lot this year. And as the rain poured down and I made a point to think about myself and the past year rather than fictional characters I also thought about how hard it was raining the night T was born and how I hadn't a clue of that until he was taken away, with J, for his second apgar test. And the two midwives said to me enjoy these moments alone. You won't see anything like them for a long time. And they laughed amidst shared looks as women do.
In tonight's early evening I broke a pair of reading glasses. Third pair in a week. A single pair remaining. Jim suggested a CVS run to re-stock. Why not? We'll jump in the truck right now. Both of us suddenly ready - both at the same time - to go out and do this thing. We went to the one with the self-serve checkout that never has more than two or three other people in it. Ever.
We had masks, gloves and a list. In both directions we enjoyed beautiful rides through the woods and fields right on the cusp of twilight. Once in the town with the CVS we made note of people socially distancing in line at the barbecue place. Across the road a group of 7 squeezed maskless around a picnic table all seeming to talk and laugh at once. People have been going around to places of service work to decorate with handmade banners of appreciation. Knew that was a thing but it was nice to see it locally with my own eyes. We came home on a different road that was quite leafy and wild. Then we took a slight but compelling detour before coming home.
A road at the edge of a secondary hill on the next ridge over from our own. We looked at a place there. One year on J's birthday we stopped, spur of the moment, to pick raspberries at a farm a bit further along the road that's since become a lot more high profile and considerably spiffed up around the edges. We gawked like people taking in Manhattan for the first time.