July 21

I am claiming some space for writing in the morning, Lucy our puppy curled up beside me on the sofa. This is not as idyllic as it sounds. Lucy, of course, is not permited to be on the sofa, but after dragging her off so many times and trying to write, I give up. It is the one place she will sit calmly for two minutes and not be chewing on chords or furniture or causing me to jump every five seconds . . . (I just jumped). Having a puppy is a lot like having a toddler but more . . . ambiguous. All day long I am wondering does Lucy need exercise, is she bored, does she feel included, does she feel loved? Is Lucy hot? Is she cold? Was I too harsh with her? And then she pees in my shoes. 


We spent the weekend visiting friends. What a dull sentence, how loaded with life! I met these friends years ago when we lived and worked together in Haiti. Surely it wasn't a perfect community but my memory claims it was. No, better than perfect; for a time. It will never happen again I'm sure. Life doesn't go on, it just grows taller and broader with people we've loved. 


It was so good to be together and to remember . . . remember the way we could talk and talk, remember the smoky air, remember the breezes. Life was just beginning, I believed in everything. I was utterly selfish, I was utterly hopeful. 

I can't stay up nearly so late now. I've learned to be quite responsible, much more afraid. Sometimes you need to reach deep, deep down into your life and remember what is real, what you wanted after all. 


I've been thinking about the fields white unto harvest and how we are called always to the present, always to what is growing right beside us. But things grow from what is planted, the past lives on and I think we get to choose, to a large extent, what grows. I can't go back to Haiti but I can write, I can teach my kids, I can love people here. There is so much living to be done.

Summer is blowing past and I'm soaking up the moments. It is the best time of the year. 


"She conceived of life as a road down which one traveled, an easy enough road through a broad country, and that one's destination was there from the very beginning, a measured distance away, standing in the ordinary light like some plain house where one went in and was greeted by respectable people and was shown to a room where everything one had ever lost or put aside was gathered together, waiting.” Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping

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