By Deborah Thomson
“Ah! There’s nothing like staying home for real comfort.” A quote of Jane Austen’s and a sentiment with which I agree.
The pandemic provided me with a gift in staying home…again! This is the second time in my life – the first being due to a severe concussion suffered some ten years ago – where circumstances have forced me to stay put. Unlike the first, I was not the only one being kept home. This time was different. My home time provided me with the gift of time.
More time with my loving husband, who normally travels half the time. Unexpected time with my eldest who had fled New York City to join us after recovering from a presumed case of Covid 19. Less frantic and frenzied time due to fewer responsibilities. Relaxed time to be creative, to read.
And…more time for me to pursue the art of puttering. In essence a time to be alone, to dream, to discover. An exercise which is never on my “To Do List” and graciously flows into a private, focused, and meditative state. Something I crave deeply and find restorative. For this, I am grateful for the time. For the time in my home.
Psychologists and Buddhists alike agree that, in order to grow, there is a kind of suffering that needs to take place. Unlike others, the pandemic did not cause me to suffer. I lost my employment making me miss my piano students, band mates, and choral mates, but my husband had and still has work. I missed and continue to miss my adult children, but they are alive. My husband and children are alive! Perhaps my own growth will occur when I am re-united into the arms of my adult children as we shed tears of love, joy, appreciation, comfort, and relief. Oh…so many tears! So much love!
Love, that was birthed in the home.
Wandering Wakefield 