Constantchange

The Normality Drive

I feel much calmer this weekend. Life seems to be moving forward, and steady cleaning and cooking in the new house is helping me feel less frustrated with the state of things. We had our planning meeting at work where my department gets together once a quarter and syncs up calendars for the next five or six months, and when I wrote down that my last day was September 30th, and had that confirmed, I felt a great sense of peace come over me. I have had it out of my system now; my work does not define me, my career is not the most important thing in my life.

Audrey gave birth to a new cousin last night, Laura Kate, and I expect the husband and I will get to go see everyone soon to celebrate the new family member. Mother's Day is coming up, and I plan on inviting my mother and Grandma Alice to come visit my new house. I miss them, and my sisters. Everyone will have to visit to see the new baby, and I will be happy to see them all as well. I do not visit with my family as much as I would like under happy circumstances. I would like to play with Ellie, Colin, and Ruel. I can't remember the last time I really had a chance. And besides, it is almost time for the blackberries to be out in the wooded lot behind my uncle's house, thick and dark and ripe as big as your thumb, it is time for cobbler and ice cream and the sun hot on the back of my neck.

All of this is a way of saying, I suppose, that summer is here at last. I know that the calendar says that summer is not here yet, but it is May Day, and the festivals have begun here in Atlanta. The Inman Park had its tour of homes last weekend, and there's an outdoor public art festival in Freedom Park this weekend, and I am cleaning and baking in the house that my husband has bought us, and I am happy. The sun is out. I'm going to find a new job, and then I can make a baby of my own. I am nesting. We are having friends over for dinner for the first time tomorrow night. I have cabinets full of food and kisses whenever I ask for them and soon I will have the time to write for myself. Things get better, a little bit at a time, all the time.

I miss you; come visit. We have the guest bed set up now with clean sheets. I have ordered a new tea cup to replace that one that got broken so long ago. Come and visit, and I will make you breakfast, and we can sit and talk about the books that we have read and make collages on the kitchen table if we want or try that complicated recipe or draw comics and print up a 'zine. We can laugh about the bad things that have happened in the last year, too. The long dark windy rainy times are almost past. It's summer, I don't care what the calendar says.