I have not yet found the balance between attending to all the incoming emails, (most of which predict irretrievable disaster if I do not donate immediately,) engaging in the activism which will be most effective, and living any of the rest of my life.
But today, at least I started by calling family, and only opened email afterwards.
Later in the day I drove out to Harlequin Gardens, the go-to nursery, for some compost and soil to revivify the silly 4'x4' raised (raised? really?) bed in the back yard. I'm ready to grow some greens.
I am astonished to realize that it has taken me these two years to restore the bird feeders to their places, and to be interested in growing food in the garden once more. My mother had turned to her garden, which she only began in her late fifties, to deal with the pain of her husband's death.
I turned away from the garden when Zalman died, and curled in upon myself.
Feeling the impulse to go get sacks of organic compost and earth marks a change; and I'm ten years later than my mom.
I will never become the prolific farmer my mother turned into; but I will enjoy the lettuces and the chard, G-d willing, and the prospect of getting messy and sniffing that earthy frangrance when I turn the soil.