Storms

I understand the anthropomorphizing of nature in Greek mythology. Herb and I just watched a storm blow in out of clear hot skies. There was sizable hail, and lightning and thunder that seemed personified. It was like watching huge shoulders roll through the garden and large wings sweep the trees. The sound of the storm drowned out anything human, and even stopped thought cold. I was, as always, mute before its power.

Eventually I was able to mutter, "our first married storm," though of course there had been another one on the night of the reception. I was, however, otherwise occupied then, and paid less attention to nature (though it certainly was a dramatic guest then too).

We are drawing near the end of this  first month together in this place we love... we have had weeks at a stretch in the past, but few this long I think. H is due to return to Boston and we will likely be apart for a few days, something we are not looking forward to. It will be reminiscent of the days "before," but now with small gold bands on our fingers, it feels different. However, I will no doubt fall back into the accustomed routines, and Herb's days will be filled with meetings. We will talk on the phone.

The garden needs attention, some plants may have died from the dry days that preceded this rain, and I need to get out there early in the morning, before the sun's heat. I will need to dig in the dirt and pick red lily beetles and potato bugs from the leaves. I will need to tie up the tomatoes with strips of bed sheets and pinch the buds from the basil.

I will need to turn my attention to the writing I had promised myself this summer--writing that was back-burnered when I was at the BAC working with faculty and students I have grown to value and respect as colleagues and friends. Writing has been back-burnered with the wedding plans. .But now I will be paying more attention to the weather, my companion in the silences. I will settle deep in the leather chair of the living room, and watch the sun and shade pass through the east and west windows, the computer in my lap and the cats snoring on the daybed. I will think about that postponed essay on what it is to bid adieu to singlehood. I will write about what it is to enter the world of the coupled. At the ceremony, my friend Deborah said laughing,  I am no longer seen as someone who might be looking at other women's husbands, and comparing them to my beloved dog.

The community needs some attention too. A friend's son died and will be buried on Friday in the Community Church. The ladies will be setting out food. They have been sending meals for the past week: chili, and mac and cheese, and a turkey dinner. H and I will help stack and unstack chairs in a church that might not welcome me as a member of the congregation but that  opened its doors to us for the wedding. And  Solarfest, the alternative energy festival is happening soon in Tinmouth, the next town over (population 636), and the organizers could no doubt use a hand or two, though the international group of volunteers known as the "Peace Pops" for the Ben and Jerry's ice cream, will be lifting the heavy stuff.  I will think about what a friend and colleague has called the "lost art" of community. 

So I have work cut out for me... and it is familiar work if non-remunerative. I will think too about how it is possible to build respectable remunerative work out of a community of respect. There are too many people who are "thrashing about" as a friend says, trying to figure out next steps. We should be making the world a more socially sutainable and socially just place together. We should be able to support ourselves doing work we believe in. We should be able to stay up at night doing work that makes a difference, and still take weekends off.

I guess that will keep me churning. We will welcome others to join us  in the room with east and west sun to figure it all out. There's a queen size bed in the room under the eaves and bugs to pick off the squash. And sometimes there are storms that make you believe in the ancient gods.