Tuesday morning:
“There are a whole lot of people in this world whose job it is to make you feel discontent. Our economy is kind of built around all of us feeling like we don’t have enough. Ever.”
I don’t know if he really heard me. I got the “I know, I know,” but really he was too angry about all the limitations of his unbelievably-amazing-and-perfect-six-months-ago birthday present.
Did I get across to him how much I struggle with it, too? Did he hear me say that we each have to find a way of looking around us and seeing enough? It is part, I think, of the daily battle.
* * *
We took Youngest off gluten and dairy a week ago on a what-if whim, hoping to find relief from her constant stomach aches. She has gone a week now with only two stomach aches. Figuring out new ways to eat has been a challenge, but we’re trying to just go with it. Gluten-free loaves of bread from the grocery store—no, dairy-free cheese substitute—no. Expensive, plus she won’t eat them. My plain old corn bread recipe with two straight substitutions—yes. So we’re rethinking food. Trying to focus on what works while being honest about all the “nos” we’re coming up against.
There’s something very familiar about this path.
* * *
Also Tuesday morning:
In the face of way too much to get done, a black bean chocolate cake recipe. (A magical recipe—here.) The scents of chocolate and orange and vanilla and coffee all around.
Sibelius 5 playing over and over, so I can absorb it into my soul and mind for rehearsal tonight.
The memory of last night’s wind, and the way it made the bedroom shades poof out when it blew especially hard. Through the glass, storm windows and all. (Thankful for you, old house—I actually really like you this way. Thankful for you also, down comforter.)
The field of frost flowers and grasses on the window.
The Queen Anne’s Lace behind the house, nothing but skeleton now, arms still held up to the sky, open to gather what comes.
The moments, suspended, when everything—in spite of everything else—felt like more than enough. This is how I will fight.
* * *
Wednesday evening, now:
I’ll be honest: today was a long, tired, tiring day—one of those days in which time and chaos and humanness simply overtook everything else. Finally I have the chance to post what I wrote yesterday. And I will. Because even though the only thing I can think of to do in the face of today is go to bed, yesterday’s more-than-enough still counts.
That, too, is part of the fight.
