Life, Interrupted.

I don't generally like poetry, but to start off my first blog post in several weeks, I'd like to quote one of my favorite poems, "To a Mouse, On Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough," by Robert Burns:

The best-laid schemes o' Mice an' Men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought be grief an' pain,

For promis'd joy!

(For those of you not up on your Scots dialect, "gang aft agley" means "often go wrong." Which is a terribly fitting start to this post.)

You may have noticed that this blog has been under a bit of silent running lately. And if you are reading this blog, you probably already know why. Suffice it to say, there has been...upheaval...as of late, and our best-laid plans have ganged aft agley to no end.

I tried to write about everything before, but couldn't find the words. And I've tried again more recently, but the words I found then weren't the ones I wanted; they were the words of someone too close to the situation, someone who couldn't see the forest for the trees and didn't know what she really felt. I had been running on auto-pilot for some time, pushing aside thoughts and feelings that distracted from the task at hand; now that the dust was settling and life was returning to normal, I finally had a chance to let all those repressed feelings come out. And since no one represses good feelings, everything I wrote reflected that. They were writings of sadness and fear, a sadness and fear that, now that more time has passed and I've had the chance to be more logical and reflective, I no longer feel.

To be sure, there are changes — big changes. And when I say that things are returning to normal, I mean they are returning to our new normal, whatever that ends up being. This new normal is a strange thing — so similar to the old normal that it's easy to forget that it isn't the old normal, but with enough differences that it's clear things are not as they were, and that they will not easily, or ever, go back to being the same.

But such as it is with life. Life goes on, and so we go on with it. And while we may have lost some things, we have found even more. We have discovered a strength that neither of us knew we had. We have found a new perspective on life, and an appreciation for the promise and opportunity that every day affords us. We are reminded that we are loved, and that we are truly blessed by the people in our lives. And we have been reminded that, all things considered, we incredibly, incredibly lucky people.

Happily, one of the things that comes with normalcy is more time for blogging. I just started up a pottery class, and so tales of clay and wheels will soon follow. And while we have had a slightly altered relationship with food, there should still be plenty of tastiness to share. We are quickly (more so than I would like) coming up on that part of the Arizona year where turning on the oven is a significant hazard, so I am trying to squeeze in as much fun cooking as possible before it becomes physically impossible to operate any heat-based appliances larger than the toaster oven. I have also decided to get into sandwiches for this very reason, and am contemplating a pickling binge soon.  All my original schemes and plans are still in the works, too, so I am expecting great things from this newfound sense of foodly purpose.

Since I'm at a loss for a way to end this, here is an artsy iPod photo of Saguaro National Park. One of the positive aspects of all that's happened is that we'll get to drive through this park more often, usually right as the sun is setting, which is a pretty fantastic way to end your day.

All in all, life is good.