This piece by my favorite living American author explains, as well as anything can, why I've become wary of spending much (or any) time in this space lately. Our days are full, and the hours together feel both precious and short. As I wake up each morning, I look forward to that time of evening when dinner's been cooked and consumed, the dishes are washed, the children are showered, and one of us is reading to Raya, while the other, sprawled on the floor of Sava's room, is reading a book alongside Sava. We've entered--over the past few months--a new territory where being read to is not something Sava chooses unless his sister is involved. He wants to read on his own, and he likes having one of us read alongside him. I've read many many pages that way, and it is honestly the life I have been waiting for. I believe deeply in the power of solitude. I believe reading a paper book in silence feeds our minds in a way that no screen ever can. I believe there is deep companionship in reading, in silence, alongside someone else. I believe these are our best family hours during the busy school weeks.
School started seven weeks ago for three of us. We are all in the same school, which feels cozy, convenient, and comfortable. Raya had a hard time adjusting during the first few weeks (we're still not sure why), but she acts a lot more comfortable now. Sava seems to be enjoying fourth grade.
We have after-school stuff but not too much. The balance is delicate each day. As captain of the ship, I worry, on an hourly basis, about who has or hasn't slept enough, whose lunch needs adjustment, who exercises too little or too much, how much homework needs supervision, etc. The rules seem to change weekly, and we are learning to live with the fact that all of us--both kids and adults--are growing up. I'm learning to focus on my breath. I'm trying to monitor the critical eye inside my head and to offer love and support before I dish out advice and judgment. Some days are better than others, but we march on. Life is good. When at the end of the day I plop on the floor to read a novel, I like hearing the silence with my son. I like to know that he is right here, reading next to me, and I like to imagine that some day he will remember those evening hours. Franzen (and Turkle) have it right: we need more time together, and we need more genuine, deeper solitude.
With that in mind, on to a whole lot of photos from the past few months and very spare text. Alone time beckons.
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First, pictures from before summer. That's right. These belong to B.M., Before Montana.
We live in a pretty neck of the woods. I wish we still hiked weekly, which we did for a brief while, but currently Sundays often feel like times of much needed rest for everyone. So, sometimes we hike, and sometimes we stay home. Despite the drought, there is beauty to be found every single time.
We really like the hill behind our house, too. It's my personal default Decompression Space. Cool in summer and hot in fall.
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P.M., or Post Montana, we've gone a couple of places, too. Reunited with old friends at Ford Funston (aka: one more reason we like it here), which we had never visited before.
At home on the couch with friends old and new.
Camping with above-mentioned friends in a sequel of sorts to the reunion. Having our kids, who have known each other since birth, spend some truly good times together.
Lots of pool time in September.
The Farmer's Market, unfailingly, every single Saturday.
And, of course, what would fall in the Bay Area be without the beach?
Life, in other words, is pretty good. As long as we keep the truly important stuff in mind.
Happy October.
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