It's not that nothing has been happening, indeed our wait has been exciting so far, a veritable roller coaster. But with all the ups and downs the quiet times can feel very....quiet.
Andrew laughs at me, because in all reality I am rarely quiet and not often still. This Friday will mark a month without a day off from work. To celebrate I've been staying in evenings to work on me-focused projects: making some pretty summer dresses for myself, planting dahlias, reading fiction. I get up three times a week to "run," a project that, as of this week, is actually more running then walking for a change.
Maybe it's just that I was a little punch-drunk on the spring and the sunshine, but sometime this past weekend it started to feel like we hit our stride. The running and the tulips and the tiny splinters in my hands from the piles of mulch and compost we've been using to make up for the clay soil in our front flower beds are all working together to keep my shoulders relaxed, my body calm. Coming home to a building full of good folks who are becoming good friends, to a home that often smells like fresh sourdough bread made from our own starter that we have kept alive almost the entire time we've been waiting doesn't hurt either.
Sunshine in Seattle never lasts. As a result those of us who live here have learned to live into every moment of blue sky warmth that we get, to try and stock up on it so that when we wake up the next morning, like we did today, to grey skies and windy misty rain, our bodies can still remember the way the earth was warm, not two days ago.
So I'm trying to let the coping skills I've developed for the weather seep into the other up-and-down seasonal changes in my life. To bask in the sunshine of friends and home, and the many sweet moments of our life as I can. Whether it's a quiet afternoon digging in the flower beds with one of my sister-friends, a sunny Sunday morning walk holding hands, or a rainy night eating cupcakes with neighbors - I can choose to bask in these things, to savor them.
That way, on other days, when I'm busy, discouraged, lonesome for that little person who is out there somewhere, or just plain worn out from my overactive brain's insistence on dwelling on a time that isn't here yet, I can do what we of the Pacific Northwest have learned to do so well. Chin up, ignoring the grey mist that wets my face and obscures the mountains in the distance, I can remember that the sun shone a few days ago, and it will be summer soon enough.