Day 20: Moments

Thank you, Radio Lab.

Day 19: Optimism

Lloyd: “Why can’t you be in a good mood? How hard is it to decide to be in a good mood and be in a good mood once in a while?”

Constance (with a sarcastic roll of the eyes): “Gee, it’s easy.”

Day 18: Change

Dear Dr. Stevens,

I received your note in the mail today. Thank you so much for the opportunity to interview for the position. I was impressed by the thoughtfulness of the questions I was asked throughout the process, and came away with my respect for QCC and its faculty and staff reaffirmed. While I’m disappointed that I wasn’t the right fit for the job, I’m truly glad to know that the search committee identified an ideal candidate.

Well, sort-of glad anyway. Or maybe not at all. In any case, after weeks of pursuing this, things will not be changing for me after all. Things will be staying the same.

Not entirely true. We’ve decided to buy our first house, and are full-on into the search. But we’re on a tight budget, and the process so far has proven to be more stressful than exciting. After viewing 20+ homes, and having one offer rejected (again, Dream House status), we’re coming to realize that we’ll need to compromise on one of our three “must-haves”: size (3 br), location (Queen City), or yard (enough for the dog and a garden).

Now that I know you’re not going to hire me, I might as well tell you now that, really, one of my greatest weaknesses is that I don’t do well with disappointment. I wallow. I put everything on hold, even though nothing is happening to occupy me. Yoga. Work. Writing. House hunting. I want to not want. I want to not do. I want to lay on the couch and stare at the wall.

When I was little, I changed schools every year. The perpetual New Girl. I hated it, and I loved it. Mom: Girl-drama among friends? Good news, sweet pea! We’re moving! You can start ALL OVER! More than anything though, I got used to it. I have 15 jobs listed on my resume (probably didn’t help me win that Dream Job, eh?). Of course, most of them had end dates, and it’s not at all uncommon for someone in my field to rack up seasonal work between undergrad and grad school. But again. I got used to it. I didn’t mind abandoning one for another. And another.

Then this morning. A thought occurred to me, as I was laying on the couch (staring at the wall). What would it look like if instead of starting anything over, I changed by re-commiting myself to exactly where I am and what I’m doing now? I didn’t get the stupid job. I just didn’t get it. We are going to end up with a less-than-ideal “starter home” that we can afford. It would be so much easier to make this all miserable than to make it joyful. Why do I always have to be Constance? Why can’t I ever be Lloyd? (10 points to anyone who guesses that reference. Here’s a big hint.)

But suppose I pretend that the two jobs I have now are both brand new and perfect for me, and suppose I make an honest effort to look for things they have to offer that I might have never before? Suppose I jump off this cliff into the most debt I’ve ever been in, and laugh while I paint the walls?

Easier said than done.

But thanks, Dr. Stevens, for sparking the momentary motivation.

Sadie

Day 17: Parents

Dear Bob and Megan,

I decided some time ago to wait to have kids. Not very long, but at least until my early thirties–my parents, who married following a three-month courtship and had me soon after, were not the best of role models. So, I’ve been watching my new-parent friends, listening and learning. You are two of the best. Thank you for showing me how it’s done.

Sadie

Day 16: Caregivers

Dear Lawrence,

Let me start off by saying that that was so clearly not your fault. It could’ve been any of us. I remember the time Jack was lost in the woods overnight. In the wee hours of the morning, as we hiked through the darkness with the rescue dogs, underneath all my fear I was so selfishly grateful that he didn’t escape during my watch. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter-we’re all in this together, and it could happen to any of us, any time. Alzheimer’s rears its ugly head.

So far he has always bounced back. The overnight in the woods. The stomach ulcer. The blood clots in his lungs. And every time it looks like death, or at least an end to this at-home arrangement, he emerges from the shadows. He chops wood and jogs to the mailbox and rides the ferry and teases kids and plays with dogs, and everyone remarks on how good he looks. Can an 89 year-old man sprint at top speed down a quarter-mile hill, land on a gravel road-bloody, broken, and bruised-and return to his old self? Time will tell.

I’ll be honest, though: I’m not prepared for this. Are you? Neither of us were hired as professionals, exactly. When Tim and I started, Jack and Julie could be left alone for up to two hours! We were only around to lock the doors at night, to turn off the oven, to feed the dog. Things are quite different now, but they’ve changed gradually…and here we are still.

I sat next to Jack in the living room last night. We watched a movie. He was naked but for his bandages and a pull-up, and I cried quietly, thinking of the book of poetry he wrote in his heyday. He was a writer and a teacher, headmaster of an all-boys school, and later an esteemed college professor-did you know? Did you know he was on ski patrol in Switzerland during World War II? Did you know he was a sailor until only last year?

Life is messy, and so, I’m learning, is death. And Lawrence, we’re doing the best we know how. Tim and I, you, Mark, Erin-we’ve spent every day of the last several years of our lives with this man. And when he does eventually die, we’ll step aside, the way we did when Julie passed away. The family will swoop in and make their decisions, have their rituals, and say their goodbyes. And we’ll grieve quietly, behind closed doors. But now is the time for our ritual, on the other side of death. I’ll take one side and you take the other, and we’ll lift him up and carry him off to bed even if he screams with all he’s got. Love is painful. I’m glad we’re in this together.

Thank you.

Sadie

Day 15: Rain

Thank you rain,

for the quiet day to play catch-up, for relief from outdoor responsibilities, for soaking the garden. Things have been busy. Summer always is. And my commitment to daily rituals -writing, yoga, cooking- is waning. I read something recently about the challenge of staying present while you’re looking ahead. These steady showers bring me back to myself.

Sadie

Day 14: Magic

Dear Life,

This afternoon as I was making a sandwich, Lotus sprang up from her position guarding the door, barking her head off. This is not unusual. So I finished stacking the lettuce, spreading the mustard, and slicing the whole thing in half before I walked to the screen door to check the scene.

And there, standing in front of Tim’s car, with Lotus weaving in and out of its legs, barking away, was a giant of a moose!

Thank you life, for the gaspers and jaw-droppers and heart-stoppers. The moments of utter surprise, and reality, and magic.

Sadie

Day 13: Spring Harvest

Dear Garden,

I am so grateful that my favorite crops come early, grow quickly, and stick around all summer. The greens, in particular, are prolific. Today I made radish pickles.

Sadie

Day 12: Appearances

Dear Jessie the Hairdresser,

My first thought was, I don’t look like myself. Then, But I’m not the same person from one day to the next, am I.

So, I guess I can say that: Thanks for reminding me that I’m not the same person from one day to the next. And thanks for being the kind of hairdresser that just jumps in with both feet. “Yeah, I think you should do it. Something different. Bangs.”

Eh, I still don’t like it.

Sadie

Day 11: Illumination

I have a friend who travels. Every once in a while, the seasons change and I think it must be about that time again….and then there she is, at my doorstep in the evening. That’s how I felt tonight. Thank you fireflies.