And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
I don’t know how it’s been for the rest of Wisconsin, but in my corner of the state, it’s been a horrible summer. It’s either been very hot (90s and even 100s), humid, raining, or there have been Air Quality Advisories because of the smoke from fires in Canada blowing here. Our skies were gray, even on sunny days. There was one day a few weeks ago when Waukesha had the worst air quality in the country. This is not something we want to be known for. And as for the rain – never before have I seen people in this area have to be evacuated from their homes.
It’s been bizarre.
One of my favorite places during a Wisconsin summer is on my own deck. My deck is up in the sky on the third floor of my condo. It’s large and feels like an extra room. During warmer months, I eat lunch outside every day, and also usually bring my computer out in the evening and work until late in the night, the light from the moon and my computer screen compatible bright spots in the darkness. There are plants galore, a large dining table and chairs, a loveseat, and two rocking chairs. Even though I live in the middle of the city, it feels like a haven to me.
I am not an outdoorsy kind of person. No camping for me, thank you, I don’t like hiking, bugs are not my friends, and while I like fresh air (my favorite days are when my windows and doors are wide open), I prefer to use the outdoors for relaxation and quiet, not exercise. One exception for me is the ocean. In Oregon, I am outside as much as I can be, but even there, I’m either relaxing on the deck with a good book, or I’m strolling beside the waves.
Our first year here, I ignored our deck. I was busy working on the inside, making the condo everything I wanted it to be. But the second summer, I moved to the deck, and as time passed, it became the haven. I never used to like taking care of plants, but now there are many, who I talk to regularly. The hibiscus, in particular, are friends, complete with names.
And this summer? I thought last summer was the stressful summer, with Michael’s passing on June 19th. The grief was overwhelming, the official busywork was interminable, and the condo so different without him. I threw myself into a massive reorganization, from cupboards and drawers to moving furniture and purging, purging, purging. I recognize it now as a need to feel in control of my life which had spun so incredibly out of control. But then, I only knew it as panic and desperation.
I met a man online who is a music therapist who specializes in grief. We talked for an hour, and he told me that our brain treats the dying person like a phantom limb. Even though we know the person is gone, we still watch for him. In my case, I think I felt if I cleaned hard enough, thoroughly enough, Michael, my phantom limb, would somehow reappear out of the chaos.
To my surprise, though, this summer has been even more difficult. Because the numbness is wearing off, the searching is wearing off, and the realization that this is a huge and very final change is setting in. The first few forms I filled out after Michael’s passing, where I had the choice of checking the “widow” box, I adamantly refused and still checked married.
I’ve now moved on to the widow box.
So to have that third floor haven inaccessible to me during this time has been very hard. I have asthma, so the Air Quality Advisory days meant I was stuck inside with the a/c on. Rain kept me inside as well. And the heat was oppressive, so I stayed inside there too. I’d go out to water the plants and have a quick chat, and then duck back in. From my desk, I looked longingly out at the rocking chairs. At the table, where I should have been sitting with my computer, still working, but outside in the air and the sky and surrounded by plants and life.
For the first time ever, I had cabin fever, but not in the middle of winter.
Last week was crazy, with round after round of thunderstorms and flooding rains, humidity, lightning that wouldn’t stop. And then, this week…the temperatures dropped. The humidity dropped. It hasn’t rained for a few days now. And the air is clear. Skies blue. Sun bright.
Yesterday was August 20th. For the first time this summer, I had a meal on my deck. As the sun went down, I took my computer to the table outside and I worked. At one point, I came in to fetch a hoodie…I was chilly. Chilly! But I stayed outside.
As I worked, I felt the cloak of familiarity settle around my shoulders. The decorative lights on the deck railing sent a rosy glow to the plants, and the colored glass moons I have scattered everywhere also sparkled and glistened. It wasn’t completely quiet, there are always sounds in a city, but the sounds were softer than during the day. Crickets dominated. There were even a few fireflies, despite the fact that I was three stories up.
There was a mourning dove. I’ve heard her a lot this summer, during the day and at night. I acknowledge her, and at times, sing quietly along with her.
I moved through that evening in peace, breathing easily, the ache I’ve felt since January 19th, 2024, still present, but soft, like everything else on that night. I was surrounded with home. And it felt like summer.
That was all I needed.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
