I was about to sign in with a Happy August!! and a description of our weekend---we'd got the children on the road to the beach house yesterday a.m., I deflated quickly and slept all afternoon, and we're putting down new flooring in Caro's bathroom while they're gone.
I was so full of MY tired and my things to do and MY week in prospect, and then we decided to run to Cracker Barrel for a leisurely lunch. We arrived to find the front drive blocked by an ambulance and a firetruck, and since people were still going in and out, we went in.
We were soon seated, in an oddly-sparse area in a corner, where our waiter's first words were: It's a bad day here today. A man collapsed and died right here just now.
We spoke quietly, befitting the gravity of the time; we ate our lunch, talking of the children and the work to come; we clasped our hands tighter than usual, as he asked the blessing on the food and on the strangers in their loss. And we looked at each other in a new, unsure way, I think, with our minds on the fleeting time there is.
Best laid plans, hopes and wishes, thoughts of self and cupboards and mingy-small things like Clorox and Brillo---they are fleeting things, like bubbles in the sun, and we can only look up.
It's been a strange day; I'm going to meditate a while at the dishpan, right some rooms, perhaps make a pot of coffee and put down some things in today's journal. Nothing prepares us. Nothing.
I wish I could hug every single person I love. Right now.