nurture and nature

As we lingered over dinner yesterday, trying to convince Beatrice that there is no dessert only dinner and watching her nibble a tiny purple carrot oh-so-slowly, there was a quiet knock at the front door. I opened it to find Kerry, with her beautifully open and kind face, holding an enormous bag full of soft and fluffy throws. A warm, snuggly blanket for everyone in our family, each selected with favorite colors and proclivities in mind. How did she know Mike had been shivering with cold yesterday, that he had casually commented that we really needed a cozy blanket in the living room?

And how had Hannah and Emily known that I have been overwhelmed by the beauty of this autumn, that I had just been talking to Gabriel about how we've never found a truly excellent way to preserve leaves? They brought a flower/leaf press with them from Annapolis, amongst other treasures. Milena must have known too, as she sent me this link yesterday as well. 

And in between Hannah and Emily and Kerry's delivery, there was Jessie and her family, bearing many individually portioned bags of frozen, lovingly made soup for Mike. Do you have a sore throat? asked little Elias when he walked into our kitchen. Yes, I do, replied Mike. Now Elias is acquainted with the intended recipient of his earnest culinary efforts. He seemed satisfied. 

Oh! And in the midst of so many comings and goings, Rhoda's big box arrived, filled with gifts and most especially the fabric for a fleece quilt for all of us to make together.

It seems our family and friends are determined to keep us warm and well fed, to maintain a steady flow of music and books and art into this borrowed house. I decided to let it be known via Mike's Caring Bridge site that we could use some backup soup for him, now that only liquids are tolerable. Days later our freezer is full of nourishing broths and purees. Eating has become hard, but I do believe eating food prepared with love and kindness is a little easier going down.

I'm not the one with cancer, but still I say cancer has had a clarifying effect. So much in my life these days has a certain brilliance, a force to it: the color of the sky, the warm spices in a pumpkin muffin, yellow late afternoon light on brick, delight in Beatrice's eyes. The necessity of receiving the care that flows towards us with grace and love. 

A recognition that both reaching out and receiving requires a generous spirit. These past months have stretched my heart's capacity for reception. I'm making space. Sometimes it hurts.

Also: figuring out what is essential. Food, warmth, beauty. Reading aloud together. Walking, biking, making art. The flaming brilliance of the season. The people whom we love and love us, and the people who love them, and the people in turn who love them. The signs of what we mean to each other.

p.s. Our first annual apple picking trip inspired one of the very first posts on this blog. How things have changed! How they have stayed the same! This time we met in Pennsylvania, and Gabriel was missing, and Beatrice has joined us, but Nathaniel still likes to pull a lot of kid weight in his wagon.