1

One kid is in Vancouver, one is sick and contagious and in bed at his dad’s, but the third comes over for Sunday supper with his partner — and my partner — and I make mashed potatoes, Polish salad (my culture only has one salad), and Brussels sprouts with bacon, and reheat the lazy kotlety (aka meatloaf) my mom dropped off earlier in the day.

After supper, we play two rounds of bullshit. I am perfectly happy, for a little bit.

2

The radishes I planted in pots and put in front of my giant south-facing window have sprouted. They totally look like they’re thriving. The lettuce and spinach are coming up too.

I’m a plant killer. I am. But I keep on trying, and right now, the radish sprouts are rewarding me.

3

The book is called Eve: How the female body drove 200 million years of human evolution, by Cat Bohannon. The writing is excellent. The Vancouver kid, who’s studying biochemistry, questions some of the science. I’m too far removed from my academic days to really defend it. But we talk about it on the phone for an hour. I don’t understand most of her arguments — my kid is much smarter now than I am. And that’s the way it should be.

4

At a video dance party in an old, old friend’s Bavarian-style basement — this basement, kittens, it’s like travelling back in time to the 1970s, minus the shag carpet but yes, there’s a full built-in bar —  I watch and dance to David Bowie’s “I’m afraid of Americans” while my partner’s partner and I awkwardly flirt with a gorgeous lesbian couple (so awkwardly, nobody is aware flirting is happening). Then we go hide from the party crowd in one of the bedrooms, pet some cats, and talk about the gorgeous couple. My partner finds us, brings us snacks. Life is good; I close my eyes and imprint the memory on my body.

5

It takes me only 22 minutes to drive to the Rona at the outskirts of town on a rainy/snowy Sunday afternoon. The tiles I want are in stock. A barely 18-year-old employee loads up the 10 boxes I need onto a trolley for me. We talk about the importance of lifting with the legs and protecting one’s back. I tell him my son used to work at Home Depot; it makes a bond between us for a few minutes. He tells me not to load the tiles into my car myself but to ask for the load service at check-out. I’m grateful. Happy. 

Later, my partner unloads the tiles from my car. Grateful. Happy.

Supported.

6

Instrumental jazz on Spotify in the background while my love does taxes and I write.

7

Coffee and fresh-baked croissants in bed on a lazy Sunday morning with someone who loves me beside me.

8

If, in our relationship, you’re the gardener and I’m the plant, these days I’m a rose. Beautiful but prickly. You need to cosset me to help me survive the winter. Water and prune me. Give me a lot of nutrients and fertilizer. Deadhead my spent bunds to keep new flowers coming. I’d like to think I’m low-maintenance but I’m not. I won’t bloom these days without a lot of care.

“I’ll water you,” you whisper. I kiss you. I’m happy.

9

A roomful of femmes talking about life and such. The happy moments and the sad moments. Someone says, “When a man tells me to smile, I say, ‘You first.’ And when he does, I say, ‘Good boy.’”

Laughter.

A sharing of strategies on how to manage “drops.” 

A hug from a friend as I leave, acknowledging my low energy. I’m exhausted and I feel like I’m walking through fog. Or miasma.

But I feel seen. And supported.

10

A Scrabble game at midnight. Jokes, conversation, laughter.

—

My baseline these days is extremely low. Lower than it was in 2013. Lower than it was over 2018-2019. I’m doing all the things to ground myself and to remind myself that actually, life is full of good moments, amazing moments. And not just moments.

It helps, a little.

Accepting that the baseline is low helps too. And so does rest.

And so does watering someone else’s garden.

xoxo

“Jane” 

Images

Rose – Edward Howell via Unsplash

Roses, featured image – Nikita Tikhomirov via Unsplash