It feels like my world is in the middle of a cycle of demolition. So many things that were part of my life are gone. The bank, where I just opened an account for one of the Girl Scout Troops closed the branch that was so convenient, and now there is nothing but a hole in the ground. The pharmacy that wa within walking distance of my house and where all my prescriptions were--is closed, big posters in the window blaring that our business is welcome at the CVS that displaced it. The restaurant that served 97 flavors of milkshake, including fig, has been obliterated--and I didn't even know it was going until I tried to go there and found an empty lot.
The local Mexican restaurant--which was always good for some wicked margaritas and chips--has shut down, although the building is still there and the sign out front forlornly declares "We Cater." For the first time in about five years, I am not a room mother, and I'm feeling closed out of my kids' schools. The snow is melting, but the ground is still frozen--all is fallow and dead.
In the garden, of course, this inert season is followed by growth and bloom. It starts imperceptibly--a greenish tinge to the creeping sedum, a softer texture to the grass. Spring bulbs start to push up their leaf tips, and the chives are suddenly bright with color.
So, in my heart, I am holding the hope that after the destruction and demolition will come a season of growth and renewal, where we ewill look back at this time and see it as a time of gathering our resources for the next adventure.
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