It has been a crazy few months and promises to continue to be crazy. With this coronavirus still on the rampage in much of United States and the world everyone – well mostly everyone – is wearing face masks and keeping a distance with no casual hugging allowed (my words not a official governmental mandate). Causal hugging... what the heck is that anyway. I suppose it means no hugging of people who do not live in your house. No hugging the random person on the street (which isn’t a good idea anyway) or hugging of family and friends in greeting or upon departure. No hugging at church, the grocery store or at the doctor’s office. Keeping a 6 foot or 1.8288 meter distance seems to be mandatory. If someone infringes on your personal space – say less than 6 feet – using words like back off, stay away you have cooties or scat, could still be perceived as offensive in some circles but is allowed for now. In spite of it all I’m doing okay. I wear my mask, wash hands, slather on the hand sanitizer and try to keep the fog off of my glasses.
I do admit that I miss my kids – a lot! Since they don’t live nearby visiting isn’t a option just now. We do keep in touch by phone and a couple times by Zoom but it just isn’t the same. The missing seems to be getting greater with each passing day. I am trying to keep a routine of sorts and with Monday through Friday working both in-office and at home that seems to help. When I have time off from work I have begun to establish gardens in my “new” village home. The inside was completely renovated by the previous owner so “my mark” has been primarily outside on the small plot of ground that I now call home. Truthfully, this place is more manageable for me at this time in my life. Moving to “civilization” was a purposeful choice and the place was literally a gift from God. You see I have ALWAYS loved old houses. Farm houses and old homesteads have always been a romantic place in my mind’s eye. I could see hardworking families living their lives in them, working around the farm and then gathering for a meal. As I grew older my romantic notions became more practical and the thought of ever living in an old house became but a pipe dream.
But then… God had other plans and He gifted me to be come another steward of this old house. After moving here in the summer of 2018 it took a while for me to recuperate from the sale of my old home and then the move here. That first summer here I don’t remember doing anything except unpacking, getting settled and laying around in that overwhelmed “how did it do it” haze. Now that I’ve been here for nearly 2 full years I’ve begun to put my mark on this old house and my gratitude is every present, everyday. So as I continue to keep a distance from my family and friends I dig in the dirt, plant things and wait for the time when casual hugging is reinstated, when gatherings of any size are welcomed back and traveling to visit my “kids” is an option again!