September 23, 2020
I’ve finally adjusted to the idea that my actual, paid job is to sit at home and write. Looking up from my laptop for what seems like the first time in months, I find that fall has arrived. The colors in the hills across the river are stunning — and across the street, an inflatable ghost grins in my direction. If not for the risk of illness, I would hop in my car and not stop driving until I’d traveled a few degrees of latitude farther north.
In some respects, it isn’t a typical fall. I don’t get to feel the thrill of change that used to come with moving or starting school. As I mentioned, I’ve settled into a lifestyle I hope to keep up for a long time. And with no end to the pandemic in sight, I’m not going anywhere. This September just feels like a continuation of the world’s longest April.
Still, all around me are hints that nothing will ever be the same. People who don’t normally talk about such things are spouting prophecies of doom. It sure sounds like the worst is yet to come. And there could always be unexpected changes in my seemingly stable life. It’s happened before.
But, not knowing what to expect, I’m not going to spend too much energy worrying about it.
I’ve had an enjoyable month measured by such indulgences as prairie seed collecting, outdoor dinner parties, a weekend celebrating a dear childhood friend’s upcoming wedding, evening walks, books, Netflix, many cups of coffee, and did I mention coffee? Though I may not know what’s coming, I’m pleased with what’s already here. As someone close to me recently put it, “these are the good old days!”