transitions

under the rose arbor, in the sunshine, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

This past few months have been full of unknowns for me and my family. For example, we learned that there was a strong chance that our apartment would be demolished this summer, but were given no certainty or specific timetable for that event. A few months ago I'd also received word that a job offer was imminent from Chapman University, but then time marched on with nothing concrete happening on that front. And so forth...

Well, many of those unknowns have recently become decided. Our apartment will not be demolished but my beloved community garden (also on university property) will. I received my formal job offer this Friday. I also learned that I received funding to travel to an international conference in England later this summer, and the issues with my health insurance company were recently resolved in my favor. And I received word that I earned only one fellowship to support my studies this next year (at the Huntington Library--lucky me!).

Whew, there's something so very comforting about having fewer unknowns looming on the horizon. I like to think of myself as someone who sees the world in a rather rosy light, but there are times when things seem so uncertain that it's difficult to not let that overwhelm me...and eclipse my daily joys.

Last night I sat in the garden with two dear friends and started remembering all of the stories that are held in that soil. There are memories from when my kids were small and we saw fairies in the dew that gathered at the joints of the cornstalk leaves. There are times with sunflower houses, bean teepees, spontaneous potlucks, and BLACKBERRIES. There are bumblebees and gophers and rats and those damn peach-thieving squirrels. There are plants that just keep growing, and some that don't make it after all. There's mud and sweat and tears. There's silence and birdsong. There's the smell of lavender at dusk. And there is knowing that no matter where I go, I will always have a garden.