It’s 5:20 am in London as I read your words, and the light is so bright I’ve been up since four. I found myself wondering: is this how drastic the difference between our pre-solstice days really is? At home, it’s gray at this hour; here, it might as well be late-morning. Years ago, when I briefly lived here, I never noticed it. Your words remind me of the metaphors: let go of the side of the pool, take your foot off the brake, take your hands off the steering wheel, drop the reins. And yet: love is the driver, so how the hell are we supposed to let go of control when it comes to our beloveds. If I ever find the answer, the world as I know it will change.
I’m glad to know that H will heal in the garden, in the sun, and that it’s not January.
This moved me to open up Google Maps and see how much further north we are than you - it surprised me how much! The days feel so long at the moment, espeically when the sun sets over the sea and it seems to refract the light for a long time after. When you get to Scotland, it's going to be even more dramatic! How exciting to be there for midsummer, more or less.
I spent the winter solstice in hospital staring at the dark outside the hospital window and marvelling at a wren singing in the darkness.I couldn’t see the light but the bird sensed it’s coming. Now I am preparing for a milestone birthday and marvelling at plants killed by slugs last year returning! Life is very un work out able . Will continue to think of you all and that birds will sing for you .
Loved the tiles!! And yes to having a plan..for what’s ahead but not always the plan we make. You will be “OK” but please have some solitary time when you can…thinking of you all.
This week a hummingbird not only came to my living room window but hovered as if to say ...you really need a garden here for me! So I dutifully made two boxes of salvia in case a miracle happens and it ever remembers this request! This in addition to the hummingbird park I have made on the creek bed and the wine barrel zinnia bushels with feeders! I have started my am journalling with your wisdom....Life teaches you patience the hard way. So true in so many ways for me. Hoping the coffee is yummy and the healing power of your garden wraps you all in hope.💝💝💝💚💚💚
Illness and recovery are their own kind of wintering. Having gone through cancer and recovery more than once, I came eventually to the realization that I just have to get in the boat and let the river take me where it will. Birds, sunlight, coffee, good books, and casseroles from dear friends... I wish you and H all these good things and more as your family recovers from the shock that is cancer this summer.
I too have cancer, diagnosed in Dec , surgery in Jan , now undergoing treatment. The uncertainty is the hardest part. I m slowly learning to live with it. Maybe, someday, embrace it? It’s a strange season.
Katherine, I’ve discovered (or rediscovered) this year that the time of year an extended illness or injury happens makes a huge difference.
My mastectomy in 2007 took place in June. What a gift to be able to sit outside in the summer months—friends even came over and planted flowers in our pots so I could enjoy them. I was able to swim outdoors at our community pool to help in my recovery.
When I broke my pelvis in late November this past year, I was able to convalesce indoors without a desire to go outside. I enjoyed the snowfall without experiencing the cold temperatures. My husband and I commented that if such an accident had to happen, wintertime was the best time to manage the progression of my healing.
As we moved into spring, I was walking with a cane. Now, as I continue to heal, I’m walking independently and just planted our potted flowers yesterday. I plan to get out on my e-bike this coming week. And I’ll be taking part in an outdoor solstice celebration in a couple of weeks.
I’m so happy to know H will be able to enjoy being outdoors as he heals. Experiencing the vibrancy of life in your garden (along with coffee) is the very best medicine!
I’ve had cancer twice and my first husband died of leukemia. I am so grateful for your writing and sharing about your life. It describes what I’ve felt. Thank you thank you
It’s 5:20 am in London as I read your words, and the light is so bright I’ve been up since four. I found myself wondering: is this how drastic the difference between our pre-solstice days really is? At home, it’s gray at this hour; here, it might as well be late-morning. Years ago, when I briefly lived here, I never noticed it. Your words remind me of the metaphors: let go of the side of the pool, take your foot off the brake, take your hands off the steering wheel, drop the reins. And yet: love is the driver, so how the hell are we supposed to let go of control when it comes to our beloveds. If I ever find the answer, the world as I know it will change.
I’m glad to know that H will heal in the garden, in the sun, and that it’s not January.
This moved me to open up Google Maps and see how much further north we are than you - it surprised me how much! The days feel so long at the moment, espeically when the sun sets over the sea and it seems to refract the light for a long time after. When you get to Scotland, it's going to be even more dramatic! How exciting to be there for midsummer, more or less.
Remember the light in Tromso?
I’m glad of that too. We’re here cheering you and H on, Katherine
I spent the winter solstice in hospital staring at the dark outside the hospital window and marvelling at a wren singing in the darkness.I couldn’t see the light but the bird sensed it’s coming. Now I am preparing for a milestone birthday and marvelling at plants killed by slugs last year returning! Life is very un work out able . Will continue to think of you all and that birds will sing for you .
Loved the tiles!! And yes to having a plan..for what’s ahead but not always the plan we make. You will be “OK” but please have some solitary time when you can…thinking of you all.
This week a hummingbird not only came to my living room window but hovered as if to say ...you really need a garden here for me! So I dutifully made two boxes of salvia in case a miracle happens and it ever remembers this request! This in addition to the hummingbird park I have made on the creek bed and the wine barrel zinnia bushels with feeders! I have started my am journalling with your wisdom....Life teaches you patience the hard way. So true in so many ways for me. Hoping the coffee is yummy and the healing power of your garden wraps you all in hope.💝💝💝💚💚💚
Illness and recovery are their own kind of wintering. Having gone through cancer and recovery more than once, I came eventually to the realization that I just have to get in the boat and let the river take me where it will. Birds, sunlight, coffee, good books, and casseroles from dear friends... I wish you and H all these good things and more as your family recovers from the shock that is cancer this summer.
I too have cancer, diagnosed in Dec , surgery in Jan , now undergoing treatment. The uncertainty is the hardest part. I m slowly learning to live with it. Maybe, someday, embrace it? It’s a strange season.
You are in our thoughts.
Ceding control is impossibly hard. I am glad that H will heal in the garden, that it will hold you all when you get home, blooming around you.
I love the tile! Soft, soothing colors and a cheery design.
I will be thinking of you and H wishing you loving and recovery ❤️🩹
Katherine, I’ve discovered (or rediscovered) this year that the time of year an extended illness or injury happens makes a huge difference.
My mastectomy in 2007 took place in June. What a gift to be able to sit outside in the summer months—friends even came over and planted flowers in our pots so I could enjoy them. I was able to swim outdoors at our community pool to help in my recovery.
When I broke my pelvis in late November this past year, I was able to convalesce indoors without a desire to go outside. I enjoyed the snowfall without experiencing the cold temperatures. My husband and I commented that if such an accident had to happen, wintertime was the best time to manage the progression of my healing.
As we moved into spring, I was walking with a cane. Now, as I continue to heal, I’m walking independently and just planted our potted flowers yesterday. I plan to get out on my e-bike this coming week. And I’ll be taking part in an outdoor solstice celebration in a couple of weeks.
I’m so happy to know H will be able to enjoy being outdoors as he heals. Experiencing the vibrancy of life in your garden (along with coffee) is the very best medicine!
I’ve had cancer twice and my first husband died of leukemia. I am so grateful for your writing and sharing about your life. It describes what I’ve felt. Thank you thank you
Sending you strength and wishes for small enchantments in the days ahead. We are all cheering for you, H., and Bert.