Things have been a bit heavy around the blog lately. I feel heavy, and therefore my writing is heavy, and therefore my writing is more scarce than I’d like it to be. Tonight, I thought I’d attempt to sit with some bright spots and quantify them for a little change, instead of concentrating on so much dark.

My favorite restaurant right now in the Twin Cities is Nightingale, and you can walk there from my house in a brisk 15 minutes. There are lots of small plates, my favorite being the pickle plate. But, they also have fantastic bruschetta, grilled bread with seasonal toppings like squash and kale and mushrooms, cut in half for sharing. Their olives are ridiculous, (that is a technical foodie writer term). Their flavors often change, but right now they are smoked in olive oil, then infused with orange and lavender. Smoke and lavender are ethereal and mysterious, and two things I will almost always go for separately, and together I could eat them all day. I’ve gotten to go to Nightingale twice in the past week.

Today, my friend Kyla sent me an MP-3 file of a song with words about witch hazel, “bright yellow flowers blooming in the middle of winter time.” It was sung by a group and there was harmony, and one singer had an uncannily similar voice to another friend I’ve neglected for far too long, and then neglected longer because I felt bad for neglecting. I need to get back into group singing. I miss that connection with strangers. And, I need to reconnect with my friend. And to remember that flowers still bloom in winter.

A month or so ago, Arlie, who I know just loves being mentioned in this blog, compiled a zip file of Pacific Northwest song bird calls. Many of them are the same as Midwest song birds, or at least Minnesota song birds, since we are fortunate enough to be near lots of water. I finally got around to unzipping and listening today.

I have an incredibly obnoxious, drippy cold. I don’t say drippy hyperbolically, either. I was supposed to make sushi and hang out with a new friend tonight, and had to cancel because I was concerned about my cold contaminating everyone else’s meal. I felt terrible for flaking out, especially in the tentative early days of a new friendship, but just discovered that she emailed me back with understanding and compassion, and offered to drop off some sushi anyway.

Someone extremely important to me told me very gently the other day to not think of myself as unlovable or unworthy of love based on not having my life at all together. They know who they are. Thank you.

People are so kind, and the world right now seems so fragile, and I must hold onto that kindness, extend it, and return it, over and over. It is the way I live the most in the present, the way I live best.

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2 thoughts on “A Breather

  1. This blog made me feel all warm and fuzzy – and not worried about you in the slightest! It’s good to hear you are getting settled in once again in the Twin Cities. Be well!

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