Solace

Today, curled up in bed, I read books one and two of the Hunger Games trilogy cover to cover.

I started when I needed lamplight in order to see the page and ended as I heard Tina wheeling her trash can to the curb, light slanting in low through the bedroom window.

At noon, I heard soft footfalls on the porch and made some vain attempts to make my hair presentable.

Delivered to me in bed by my friend and neighbor was the most exquisite creation-- a small, square plate adorned with three raspberries and a chocolate muffin of sorts (topped with whipped cream) that dazzled with its richness as it (quite literally) melted in my mouth.


All plans to exercise and work on the house went out the window today. It was the most decadent thing, giving myself permission to take solace in things that comfort me and to accept offerings of solace from others.

A reminder that it's important to let others nurture us, to nurture ourselves, and to embrace the sometimes mysterious nature of what we find nurturing.

Life is, after all, so fragile.

Learning how to care for what we have is as important as learning how to gracefully let go...

With helicopters in the air searching for a downed plane in the Winds that carried a father and his three sons, GG's death on Thursday night, and a friend's loss of his mother earlier this month, the grieving part of that graceful goodbye is on my mind.

W. H. Auden's words, captured and complimented by an unforgettable accent in Three Weddings and a Funeral (love that movie), remain for me the most eloquent summation of loss.

And yet good always comes from pain, ultimately-- just as birth comes from death and light from darkness. After all, aren't we part of the biggest recycling program around? The law of conservation of mass would have us believe so and I find solace in that. Nothing is ever truly gone; some elements remain while others transform.