The Archives come to you from a new chair.
We have officially moved into our home, gained an additional family member (of the canine variety), and are slowly finding spots for the potted plants. In the mix of all the boxes and newspaper wrappings, I celebrated my 40th birthday.
I spent that day alone, checking out of internet and phone, and enjoying the process of unpacking and arranging. At one point in the day, I was out in the yard moving pots of orchids and succulents. My thoughts were happy, my mood inspired. I was barefoot in soft grass.
As I carried plants in my arms, my steps were suddenly stalled when I felt a searing pain in the arch of my right foot. I moved to my knees and looked back on the path to see a small stump of a chopped shrub, low and camouflaged in the dirt, sticking up to a sharp point. It felt like my foot had been cut with a blade, so I was relieved to see it was not a rusty piece of metal. But the arch was deeply sliced, the blood gushing.
For two days now, I’ve been carefully washing and dressing this quite inconvenient wound. No stitches necessary, but my gait has been slowed. After all of that moving and hustling, maybe this is life’s way of downshifting my pace.
The new dog in our life – let’s call him Moodha – loves a lap. So I nestle in. Soak up this fresh environment and all the lessons it is teaching. Slow down. Take it easy. Put my feet up.
I’ve got a dog on my thigh that just likes to be. The sun rises from a slightly different angle through the window. My foot is elevated. I’m smiling in the early morning hour. Feeling very, very grateful.
Typing from a new chair.