The air is clear here and has been good for days now. Rain has settled smoke out of the sky and made fighting the fires more possible in other parts of the state. Two weeks ago a powerful windstorm knocked leaves off trees, stripped some alder trees almost bare, stripped flowers and leaves from the lacecap hydrangea in our yard, and knocked down trees and power lines locally. Our fallen power mast has been replaced and insurance will pay all but the $1k deductible. No one was hurt, but that and the smoke might explain the behavior of some birds. The clean air explains this morning’s sky tinted pink the way it should be, and two skinny trees are still clinging to the cape.

Our sons and their families are well. As Gary said just a few minutes ago: We did the best we could and not a bad job raising our boys. Now it’s up to them.

We walked long yesterday and creek to creek today. The baby crabs have continued to surprise us in their variety. There was a seal just offshore the other day. We heard but did not see our favorite black oystercatcher child. The young eagles have moved on, the ravens are about, fifteen crows have been hanging together on the sand, in trees, in flight. An extended family.

Ruth Bader Ginsberg has left the building. I read some comments in major newspapers that blame her for not retiring earlier while Obama could have replaced her. Why pretend it’s her fault for not guessing she would die? Why pretend McConnell would have allowed anyone with her heart, honor, and steel to replace her? Why not blame how people ought to have voted in the last Presidential election? Why not go back to the 90s and blame the failure to eliminate the Electoral College? Why not blame . . . well, this does no good at all.

We all did the best we knew how. Now it’s up to us all to find a way to make it better.

Today is the last full day of summer. Gary and I sat on the deck and talked about repairs and gardening and tidying that we will begin now and complete . . . probably never. There is always something that needs doing. Something we must put on a list and check off after it’s done.

This past year has seen many changes for us. A marriage is coming apart, but not ours. I vowed to buy no more than eight items of clothing during this entire year and it looks like I will manage that. We stopped gathering trash off the beach, though Gary still carries an old plastic bag in case of syringes or fluorescent lightbulbs cast onshore—we’ve gathered many. We gave up all seafood at New Years and going-on nine months in, I think we do not miss it much. We are fully vegetarian. I have only the frame and border to sew onto a quilt top and I expect to finish it tomorrow. I have lost count of how many quilts and weavings I have completed so far this year, but there is a present waiting for me to pack it up for mailing to a dear woman and a wedding present for a former student who is having a virtual ceremony next month. I am invited to participate in a couple of events virtually that I would not have been able to attend in person. It is the new normal, in a good way.

I painted the stair treads dark green. I let the front yard grow wild. I have hung things on my walls that I have been meaning to hang for years. The painting by Jeanie Tomanek never arrived. “Soul Queen” is lost forever, but I have “Bramble” on my wall. The handmade Russian doll by Marina Glebova took four months to arrive and I am more than half convinced that customs took her apart before sending her on. Now she lives under a glass dome on my dressing table that once belonged to my mother.

But RBG is gone and members of my family are way beyond “unwell” and into what I cannot call anything less than “mentally ill.” One of them spills madness into my husband’s ear on the phone, believing all the conspiracy theories and that everything is ugly and cruel. But then so do other people I know (and many I do not know) believe in cruelty—people who are not even schizophrenic. While I was writing this, one of them tried to post a vile comment about Ginsberg, but I will not approve it. I am not such a “toad” or “fool” as to allow space to someone who posts hate, and anonymously. That poster meant only to hurt, and succeeded. Yippee for them. I would prefer to be hurt than hurter.

Stories stir in my head, but I am not yet writing them. I think maybe in November I will try NaNoWriMo here. I have an essay coming up on 16 October on Brevity, the day before my birthday. I thought I didn’t have anything left to say, but then I did.

I am taking a break from this blog. This is my last post for a while. I thank my readers for being here, for reading, and for their thoughtful and often kind comments. I expect to be back. Maybe in a few weeks, or in winter or the new year or even sooner when something wonderful happens.

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