Journal 8.30.20

I was up shortly after the sun, bright and clear in the sky as the cool morning air of late August wafted through the window and over my desk. I decided on a light work load, not feeling the urge to shed words on inane topics for clients I will likely never meet.

Instead, focus on a simple series of tasks:

• Laundry
• The week's lunch soup
• Homemade bread

The joy of having soup for lunch everyday is that it's warm, homey, and simple. Plus, it's an excuse to use up all the odds and ends in the produce drawer before they spoil. Today's pot is a smoky lentil soup, filled with spinach, celery, carrots, parsnips, leaks, overripe tomatoes, and a few other bits and bobs. Living in a mild climate, we can enjoy soup year round, although the type is much lighter in the heat of July compared to the thick stews of January.

The smell of baking bread adds the perfect touch of homeyness as I sit on the balcony, knitting behind the screen of tomato plants and listening to an audiobook -- "Unsheltered" by Barbara Kingsolver. Written in an election year, it is a good choice for this year, the second act of that heinous day in November four years ago. 

My mind is running with all the other knitting projects I have waiting on deck, especially now as I am so close to casting off on this scarf. Another scarf, similar to this one, is next. Midwinter presents for a boy and his boy. Yet another scarf, a foxy one, for my true love. Some new dish scrubbies, and a dish towel or two as well, are in the works. I also have another couple of projects, for mom and her partner, in mind. More midwinter gifts.

It's funny how the mind of a crafter works. In late August, the average person around me is thinking about squeezing the last of summer fun and relaxation out before school and winter sucks them dry. For the creative, this is prime time to begin allowing our love to flow from our fingertips and into our creations, each slated for a special recipient once the cold and dark descends. Our lives are seasonal, yes, but we live in the future, past, and present simultaneously.

We set out for an afternoon in the sun. It began with a bit of thrifting. New jeans, new flannel in autumn orange, and a new blown glass pear hummingbird feeder. Something to keep the little birds energetic when winter robs them of the nasturtium blooms on the balcony. 

From there, we set out for Old Fairhaven, to browse the independent bookstores housed among 100+ year old buildings, gaze at the sea, and enjoy lattes and scones as though the world isn't hesitating on the brink of destruction. 

We finished the day out by collecting this week's contents from the invasive hornet traps. Carefully tagged a labeled, the unlucky captives will go into the freezer tonight and be dropped of at the Department of Agriculture office tomorrow morning. We do what we each can to stave off the coming ecological apocalypse, I guess.

Rain moved in at dinner time, so I'm glad we got out early and saved ourselves from a walk in the rain. Instead, we enjoyed some potato burritos - thrifty, thrifty, thrifty! - and we spent the evening with each other and binging Stargate. I knitted a bit more. I'll finish this scarf tomorrow, only a couple of inches to go!

The little things, small joys. That is my focus. I can't change the entire world in a day, but I can make small changes every day. I can't control others, but I can control myself.