Not Yet Fall, I Promise

 

Just checking in. It has been a while. Nearly six months.

I've been writing quite a bit. Had an essay published recently, which was awesome. I will find the link and put it in here, so anyone who drops by can go read it.

These are weird times and I'm not sure what to say. The 2020's keep ripping my heart out. I sew it back up, I patch the holes, I find new energy elsewhere, then someone else closes their practice or retires or decides they don't want the reminder that COVID is still a thing and still a threat and some of us are still taking precautions. For ourselves and others. But my and my partner's mask wearing seems to make some people uncomfortable. I think it reminds them that the threat is still out there and they've learned how to ignore it; they don't want to be reminded. They don't want to risk feeling guilty or pity or whatever it is that my mask induces in their psyche. It's just a KN95 to keep me from getting COVID and the potential negative outcomes, due to a genetic condition I have which puts me at pretty high risk. Each new discovery about how covid damages the body, potential causes of Long Covid, the unseen damage for organs, including heart and lungs but not limited to - each discovery results in more reasons why my body is a very bad candidate for a covid infection. It's an invisible genetic condition but lethal when mixed with a vascular disease, one that seems to do a lot of its damage by use of blood clots.

So people back away.

People become distant.

We become the people who slip into out of sight = out of mind.

Or the people who are too much trouble to try to be around.

Because people don't want to wear masks.

People don't want to be reminded.

People seem to not want to know.

I miss theater.

I miss hanging out in cafes, writing, meeting with friends.

I miss my cat.

I miss feeling safe in my body, in my communities.

I am fortunate to have an online writing community, who also do things in person, and fly to other places to congregate. I went to one of the in-person events a few years ago. We all wore masks. The space was very open and ventilated. I drove with a friend and we were very cautious along the way. Those special gatherings are happening once or twice a year. But it's no longer safe for me to participate. No masks. No precautions except - well, the precaution for me is I can't go. I miss those gatherings; but I still have the online part of that community, which was an online community well before covid reared its nasty head.

The photo is from one of out tomato harvests. Three types of cherry tomatoes; our favorites are still the sun golds. And a couple of types of full size tomatoes. One of the plants, I did mistakenly purchase the type which becomes ripe nearly all at once; my intention was to do the opposite. It just means a full load or two of dehydrated tomatoes, maybe some gazpacho, some of the cherry tomatoes will go into the freezer.

In a few days I will also have a small vacation, part of which will be spent at the coast. During that time my only two goals are to rest, and to read the M-book from cover to cover -out loud- and then wrap up this round of edits. Mostly, I think it is really close. Really, really close.

Tomorrow our temperatures are also rising back up to 100, 101 for a few days. I'll need to pick the tomatoes before they split on the vine.

All I will say about NaNoWriMo right now is that I'm done. There have been some negative incidents, mishandling, accusations, a takeover, and more. It should have paused in the last transition, but it didn't; it kept going while trying to reorganize - paddling into the current and nearly capsizing. It has now all but capsized and the problems are probably its death knoll. I'm done, too. Another loss; another sadness. But I will keep writing and I will probably keep my big November writing push. It will just be done elsewhere and nowhere near the current incarnation of the the moniker.

Also, two people in as many days - people I know in real life - has said "Well, now that it's fall." It is not fall. It's the beginning of September. The light has shifted. Kids are back in school. The nights are cooler even when the days get hot. But it is categorically still summer. September, yes; Fall, no.

Did You Know: Scarlet Maples Hold Their Leaves Until Spring?

Sometimes it's the simple things which bring pleasure, maybe even joy. Or in the case of such a simple fix, it brings us a sense of safety. Which will seem ridiculous when I tell you what it was. 

Somehow it fits. With this photo I took almost a week ago: the moon through the scarlet maple, still full of the rust colored leaves from fall, waiting for the spring bud to emerge, green, pushing away the crisp leaves. I was sitting in my car, a few minutes of transition from the drive home from work, before going into the house.

The moon in an a nearly totally clear sky. Its light bright and soothing, lightly illuminating the places out of sight from the ineffective street lamps.

The very simple thing I did a few days ago? I bought small, palm-sized motion sensor lights to put on the stairs. The light fixture on the top stair landing has always been funky, but it gave out several years ago. No one wanted to replace it for us, because - well, reasons. No way either of us are going to try to install or repair anything involving electrical wires. So we're always extra cautious going up and down the stairs at night. There is a little light bleed from the front porch, or a little on the landing if the upstairs light is on; but there are dark patches with very little usable light. We've managed. We've never fallen. There is railing. And. For safety reasons, adding light on the stairs seemed like a good idea.

It was and it is. Every time I have to go up or down the stairs at night right now, I smile. I can see each step. I can see the piece of mail I forgot to put away. I can see the water bottle I left on the stairs. I can see the fanned corner at the bottom.

Such a simple solution. No holes were drilled, no wires messed with, no big expense or major time investment. Yet we are safer and more comfortable moving through the house at night.

A little light on the stairs, which automatically turn on when we approach, and turn off about 10-15 seconds after motions stops.

I wonder what other simple solutions are just around the corner. 

Next week I will be meeting with a beta reader of the manuscript. He is one of my "book lights" I'd say. I look forward to seeing where his light falls and where he found shadows, or what questions remain.

I don't think there is a this simple of a solution for getting the manuscript from here to publishing. But maybe keeping the focus on each step, each edit, each round of feedback will do the trick. 

There is a bit of light coming through and a path going forward. Like the moon through the scarlet maple anticipating spring. Like me with my slippered feet making their way more confidently down the stairs for a cup of nighttime tea. 

One step. One light. Keep going.