I can never have too many prunes at once — each a little too sour, a little too soft, a little too unpleasant after just a few...unlike animal crackers. I’ve been chowing down cups of the bland things everyday like a ritual. Perhaps I’ve made something so safe and uninteresting a mark of normality because this new normal, while safe, feels uninteresting after just a few…
I’ve felt a little too sour and a little too soft in the exactly 14 days of quarantine home. At least the two of four times I’ve gotten into a car and left my sweet, safe street, I went exclusively for boba (I know, I’m sorry I went out - local business support, though?).
We’ve all been dealt a hand of lemons. Others - vaguely out there on the inter-webs - have truly found ways to sweeten their lemonade! Sincerely, Thank You. For generosity, for random acts of kindness, for comfort, for pro bono work, for resources, for patience, for writing, for ______ (please fill in the blank and choose to be grateful!). Good news is definitely out there; let’s celebrate goodness especially in the global difficulty!
Before it rained, I decided to challenge the lime tree. If only you could have seen how mutated the tree had inexplicably grown, you, too, would have passed by the kitchen window overlooking the backyard for 10 days in a row and gotten a little desperate. I found the old shears in the older shed and started targeting branches to snip snip snip snipppppp (some had more stubbornly grown healthier than others). Also, lime trees have thorns - from which, I could tell the straight, imposter weeds immediately! But I could not immediately navigate every spiky edge. I lost track of time, like I do often these days, and could honestly not tell you how long it took. It took until it needed, really. I would wager more of the tree was now on the ground than connected to the root. By the end, my hands were far more red than my thumb was ever green. Still, every day I get the privilege of walking by the kitchen window in my loving home, I get to generate a little more hope that growth is on its way.
When it rains, it pours. I can not begin to imagine your unique circumstances and trials, joys and graces, expectations and adaptations. But I do anticipate that reflecting on this present time might be an undeniable necessity in sheltering from the storm, in seeking clearer skies, and in pruning for better limes. When life gives you a lime tree, prune it and faithfully hold fast, animal crackers in routine, because the harvest may yet be gloriously unfolding.