(First 7 Photos by Angi Welsh The first one is of our lovely room mate Sarah, our cat Oliver and a bookcase I recently installed in our house using recycled wooden desk drawers. Other photos of our daily life and 7 year old neighbor Benny and his mom Audra. Last 3 photos by Emily Blake )
It is. A new. Season.
I know, this is nothing new. Fall has come slinking around the corner with her usual quiet prowess surprising and enticing the majority of us. Yet, autumn this year feels strikingly different than autumns gone by. And of course it is. For the first time in 19 years I am not “back-to-school,” Curtis (my boyfriend) has returned, at long last, from the North country after four (basically) communication-less months as a commercial salmon fisherman in Alaska, I live now in a new house, in a new city with a new surrogate family of house-mate/room-mates, and this is what I’ve discovered - Life goes on. But seriously. No matter what my bank statement reads at the end of the day, week, or month. No matter what new situation I face. No matter what new place I find myself. No matter how odd, off-putting, or “emotionally-strenuous” the circumstance. Life goes on. It has to. And while I’ve found myself learning this lesson before, I think I may now, be learning it in a new way. That life goes on, and it can, with joy, trepidation yes, but joy also.
I’m learning to genuinely love the “stuff” of my new life. Emily’s heavy footsteps across our creaky and resounding wood floors each morning several hours before I really want to be awake (reminding me of course, and thankfully, that there is a day to be had), our cat Oliver’s persistent and admirable dedication to instinctual practice (leaping, pouncing, darting, etc.), Angi and Taryn’s relaxed but wonderfully habitual approaches to work and daily practice, Sarah’s relentless dedication to her school work despite the fact that it leaves her with only several hours of sleep a week, the necessitated need to learn to cook and clean, the daily requirement to practice and somehow maintain personal discipline, organization, and a spirit of creativity/craftmanship/hardwork.
This is a new life. And I’m terribly thankful for it. So fall, you relentless season of change, memory and forced forethought, welcome. And thanks for showing up.
