Back to Life
With water for bones
We made it to spring!
Barely.
Last week, there was a different type of severe-weather alert every day.
On Wednesday, high winds knocked out power for tens of thousands of people in the Seattle area, including my entire town.
On Thursday, temperatures dipped below freezing.
On Friday (the 13th, no less), I woke up to four inches of snow and a steady shower of flakes that fell all day.
Ever since, my weather app has looked like this:
We’ve had a relatively tame winter overall. My least favorite season could have come and gone quietly. It’s like it saw the spring equinox looming on the calendar, panicked, and decided to fuck everything up all at once.
Today, I’m gathering my winter clothes and throwing them into the street. This damn season deserves the toxic ex treatment. Good riddance!
I’m solar-powered, so winter’s always a slog. Something about this one felt less dark and dreary, though. It should have been the worst ever—grieving my mother and my marriage—but I embraced it as a slower time for hibernation and processing.
Bulbs planted in the fall immediately establish roots to anchor themselves through winter. They absorb moisture and nutrients from the soil, gathering everything they need in preparation for spring. It’s dark down there, but they rest assured: sunshine is coming.
I’ve been quietly anchoring, gathering, growing. Coming back to life.
Last Friday, after I shoveled the driveway (twice!), Evie and I successfully made the 50-mile drive to a dance competition in Arlington. The weekend was a flurry of hairspray, costume changes, Starbucks runs, and small talk with other dance moms.
“I’m sorry,” paired with a sympathetic wince, is the standard response to the news of my relationship status. “Or… congratulations?”
I laugh. It’s both.