Disappearing Acts

This spring has been a blur.

At first, my cutting back on the blog was intentional. My husband and I had taken a fantabulous vacation to Costa Rica at the end of January. It was one of those times where having a chance to really and truly relax helps you realize how much of our stress is self-imposed. Between my editorial business, my book contract (not a food preservation book, alas), and a research grant, I was over-extended, and I needed to just take a little break.

The plan was to return to the blog in, say, late April, when the growing cycle would start again. I was going to regale you all with tales of my gardening and freezer organization prowess. Rhubarb! Spring peas! Bean sprouts!

But then life intervened. My mother-in-law’s cancer came back, and it came back fast. In late March, we still thought she’d be doing chemo and radiation this summer. We were looking forward to spending at least a few days with her in Gloucester, Massachusetts, the site of her beloved summer cottage. Instead, she died May 22. There’s nothing like the death of a close relative to remind you that some stress is not, in fact, self-imposed. I’m finally back to my garden, but I’m finding that I need to do everything—cooking, eating, weeding, thinking, writing—very slowly. I need to concentrate on the task at hand without thinking about whether or not the activity is something that might be interesting to write about later.

There’s not much that I really want to say about this on my blog. I know that some people find blogging about personal loss useful or cathartic; I don’t particularly. But I do want to say that I haven’t completely abandoned ship. Hopefully one of these days I’ll blog again. Meanwhile I’m very, very happy that the sun is out, the seedlings are in, and there’s rhubarb to be had.

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