A rough-edged week, even more than usual, and that’s saying something. Short-houred, as well. More work than hours in the day, more hats than I have heads to put them on. Edges of sorrow, stress; edges of grace.
A crisis with Dad, sorrow, anxiety.
A cousin not seen in years unexpectedly visiting from Dallas, grace.
A decision to euthanize dear, cranky Autumn, nearly 19 years old and an amputee; the cat I brought to my parents as a tiny wisp of not-yet-two-month-old kitten. That was sorrow, anxiety, and grace balled into one. I will write more in her memory in the next few days; still settling.
The weather, swinging wildly from tropical humid heat to, once again, more Cape Breton than Columbia County as Hurricane Arthur (name of which so personally appropriate as in a very different context I’ve been lately immersed in the Babar books…levity) grazed the Hudson Valley, bringing low-hanging clouds and plenty of moisture.
This rainy, misty, cool holiday suited me to a T. No need to untangle the garden; it was pouring sheets. No need to socialize, contrary to my inclination, at outdoor festivities. Slept a little in, got done a lot of work, talked, texted, mailed, played with my dogs. Thought briefly of putting in the HBO John Adams series, one of my all-time favorites, but that reminded me of my distanced son, with whom I’d watched it often– too sad.
Talked to Dad and we agreed we’d both seen plenty of fireworks, enough in fact to not view more tonight; the fireworks he referred to as USNA ’48 were not the 4th of July celebratory ones.
No cookout, no fireworks (except the ones I could see from my hill) just a meditative kind of reckoning of how those men of two hundred thirty-odd years ago, risking their own precarious lives and those of their families, paved the way for the privilege and choices of so many of our lives, whatever our challenges, in the 21st century. Mine included: an unmarried woman who lived abroad, with and without a man, raised a son, earned multiple graduate degrees. Even a few generations ago, inconceivable.
There are still plenty of hurdles, roadblocks, and freaking mountains to climb til life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is truly gender, parental, marital, educational, employment status neutral. But God almightly how far we’ve come. And didn’t it all begin in some sweltering, possibly paternilistic rooms back in Philadelphia c. late 18th century? How can you not love history. Makes no damn sense. Makes total sense.