Three Years Later

Here I am. Completely out of practice, I can barely remember how to type. But somehow, on this surprising Wednesday afternoon, sitting on top of my little hill outside town, surrounded by wind and mist and completey blanketed by clouds and cold, I feel a hankering to write. So. The bakery. Maybe before I get to the bakery I should tell you a bit about my little refuge. Actually, the bakery does have something to do with this precious place. You see, when I opened the doors to our tiny little shop, I loved it so much, I told it that we were true partners. I loved that place. Still do! But the running of it made me very tired. Some of you know the realities of owning your own business. Thank God the kids work with me and my folks have been such a presence. But if you want to talk about work life family balance, I would have to say it was quite hard. Okay, the truth? Impossible. Yet the bakery and I continued to give ourselves to our community out of pure love. The garden grew. The menu grew, each of us on staff grew. And it felt like I lived at the bakery. Arriving at 4 something in the dark of morning. Sometimes not getting home until nine or ten in the dark at night. My home garden died. The house was neglected. More kids graduated and flew away. My precious friends came to hang out with me at the shop as we would clean up, sharing stories and a glass of wine. Dinner parties at home were no more. A year and a half ago Nora and I began to take Sunday drives out in the country. We pondered the idea of moving a few miles out of town to the big sky, mountains, dark skies and peace. This place too far. That place too big. Yikes, they want how much for that shack? Right in the nick of time we found a tiny little house. End of the lane. View that defies description. Over a mile high in elevation and less than twenty minutes from work. An offer not accepted. Disappointment. A journey to the west coast of Ireland for my birthday. A prayer and steps around a hidden sacred well in the middle of the bog. Second offer made, what do I have to lose? Here I sit. Tiny little house at the end of the lane. Blanketed by misty clouds, wind whipping the live oak and juniper. And slowly but surely balance is returning to my life. These days I wake up to the sunrise. The drive to work is joy. I drive home in the daylight and sit on my deck, feet up on the rail. Friends come to my house and we sit on my patio, socially distanced of course! Sometimes I even cook them food at home! We watch the deer and occasional elk. Sometimes all the kids are here and we sit around our table on the patio and feast and laugh and feel the love. This place is a mercy. A gift. A place where I can heal. My dad died this year. His story is another story. Just let me say that I have some healing to do. And I miss my daddy. How happy he was to come see this place. PS the bakery is still going strong, which is in itself a miracle in times like these. More on that soon. But for now I am going to get back into the practice of writing, which means stream of consciousness, random, whatever strickes my fancy to see if I can do it anymore. PPS what does the bakery have to do with my little refuge? Had I not gotten so burned out, burned out to a faint and dying ember, I might not have taken the drastic steps to save myself. I might not have been so desperate I needed to believe in miracles and sacred wells and the concept of wishes that could come true. You enjoy our partnership. You didn't ask me to sacrifice myself upon your altar. Thanks for growing with me, dear Bakery. I still love you.