The Liminal of September

Between back-to-school and autumn equinox, but ripe for hurricane

A huge welcome to all of the new peeps who’ve just hopped on board. Things have been a bit cattywhompus over here.

Let me bring all y’all up to speed. 

Selections from books of crappy drawings.

Wanna hear something funny?

I made a plan. I had my summer all mapped out. A delightful blend of work and play. There was camping in the North Georgia mountains, some freelance projects, a party for my 16-year-old McDonald’s cheeseburger,  some quick visits with my family in Connecticut, then a month of hiking in the UK to celebrate Handsome Husband’s (semi)-retirement. It was gonna be great.

JK. LOL.

First there was my first ever positive Covid test followed by a debilitating two weeks in bed, so there was no trip to see family.  Then there was my dad back in the hospital, hence no camping, but a book-the-flight-on-my-way-to-the-airport trip to Connecticut.  There was a naughty mammogram when I got home.¹ There was an inch and a half of water in my house. There was the search for a new home owner’s insurance company. There was an almost-hurricane.  There were some home renovations. There was an epic 80’s prom for my cheeseburger. There was Dad moving from hospital to hospice. There was me back in Connecticut way earlier than planned. There was Dad eating ice cream cake by the sea, outside in the sunshine for the first time in 6 months, celebrating his 60th wedding anniversary. There was me in England and Wales, secure in the knowledge Dad had many months left on this earth. There were chickens and cheese, valleys and vistas, potatoes and priories, relics and ruins. There was a 4 am Facetime call. There was me in the ass-end-of-nowhere using a trickle of internet to cancel hotels and vacation rentals while trying to book seats on the next flight from London to JFK. There was a ridiculous amount of luggage. There was a lovely funeral.  Then there was his birthday.

More crappy drawings.

Now here I am. Back in my house. Back in my life, unpacking a ton of shit— both literally and metaphorically. I understand how fortunate I am that at every twist and turn I could get to where I needed to be. I could find my way and my tribe. I have so much support. I am so lucky and so grateful. My siblings are superheros who held our family aloft these past few months.

But to be honest, without realizing it, I hadn’t envisioned my life past my dad’s birthday—a few days ago. My calendar for the near future shows somewhere between barely-nothing to hardly-anything.²

I’m not depressed or anything, just…lost. It’s a temporary condition, but like my Covid earlier this summer, it’s hanging around way longer than is convenient. I’m eager to get on with my life. Except…what is my life again? Why am I here? How do I be?

On a good day existential questions are a path to overwhelm. Shake them up with grief, jet-lag, and all of this  [points to any random news chyron] and I’m liable to retreat to the couch and bury myself in my newfound love of smutty fae novels.

Instead, I’m going to re-frame the questions in a more practical way.

What brings joy? Who needs a heaping dose of joy? 

What is the smallest possible action I can take to bring joy into this world?

I start with a scoop of ice cream.

I have no shortage of crappy drawings.

1. It’s cool. We got the all clear.

2. September is a fun month in Savannah, GA. I am remedying the situation.