When I arrived at Park Delta Bay, capable hands reached to help me settle Angel’s Haven into her spot. Tonight, a new tiny house arrived, and I got to pay that favor right forward. I felt good about the opportunity. I helped the residents haul the same temporary steps that someone got for me, and connected them with another neighbor when they needed a little muscle. That’s the way we roll around here, doing for others as others have done for us.
Yesterday, my sister Joyce learned of the death of her former spouse. She had been in touch with him in recent days, assisting him with some health issues. Those problems overcame him. The police officer who found his body called Joyce — because her number appeared most recently on his cell phone. She stayed connected, notwithstanding the differences which divided them in earlier years.
I feel the keenness of unbroken circles more and more as I age. Family, friends, my son — my own former spouses — we send messages, write letters, text, post on social media. We keep aware. Arguments seem less significant from beneath my greying head. Oh, I get my knickers twisted just as much as anyone. I’m not a saint. I disappoint people. However well intended, I do the wrong thing as often as not. Others try hard to help me and occasionally fall short. But most of the time, the love ripples in all directions.
From my writing loft, I watch the willow tree gently sway in the evening air. The greens deepen as the light fades. When the sun has fully set, I will close the front door and draw the curtain. I will sleep secure, knowing that any troubles which might plague me can be solved tomorrow. In the mean time, I’ll pour another glass of cold water, and settle in my rocker on the porch. Maybe I will read, but more likely, I will simply sit, and let myself be at peace.
It’s the sixth day of the fifty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.