julierichmond

Springtime came late this year in New England. We’ve lit the pellet stove every morning and each night. The cold has lingered and is starting to creep in now, as I write and the sun begins to set. I like the purr of the chips falling through the shoot, the warm air as it drifts up, and settles on my forearms and ankles. I like pulling a cashmere sweater around my shoulders while I hold onto to coffee and take deep sips. It takes me a while to wake, I appreciate the slow moments in the morning as the house warms and I wait for the rest of me to follow.

We had guests this weekend from my hometown of Mountain Lakes, New Jersey. So I skipped the gym, and enjoyed long, dog walks over the golf course and along the trails of Cunningham. We ventured to Plymouth for the afternoon, where we briefly joined a protest, and stumbled on a craft fair. A closing coffee shop made me a cappuccino, probably because I looked desperate. My husband made sure to show Amy and John Plymouth Rock, as underwhelming as ever. When we left we headed over to meet their son and daughter-in-law for dinner at a little Thai place in Braintree. Anchan doesn’t typically take reservations but when I explained I had guests, and we were a party of five, they made an exception.

We had wine and beer with dinner, Amy and May had fancy cocktails with flowers floating in them; the guys had cold beer in frosty bottles. We nibbled on shumai and spring rolls, duck, chicken, and squid. There was no room for dessert.

We came home, walked the dogs around the block, but just once, then settled into a show and an early bedtime. I was tired, brick tired, like I had run a marathon, cured cancer, or cleaned out my closet.

And then we woke to Easter, the most glorious day we’ve had so far. There was church, good friends, communion, a party this afternoon, and another slow dog walk around the duck pond.

It was a lazy, long, weekend, with one more day left to spend how I please. With friends. With dogs. With Netflix. Tomorrow, I can do whatever the hell I want.

And what a blessing, a gift, and a luxury, this weekend, and the days of my life, are.

My kids are close, and I know where they will sleep. My friends are all citizens, and though they go to rallies, sign petitions, organize protests, are, for right now, not in danger of being picked up BY an unmarked car and masked men.

I don’t have to wake up in a prison, in a jungle, on a floor. Or in a holding cell, waiting to use the phone. I don’t have to glance over my shoulder when I walk down the street or check the news for where ICE has been seen recently.

Because of genetics and luck, so far, the dark that is descending on families all over this country and all over the world, it has mostly touched me while I’m on my sofa, reading the NY Times on the phone.

Yes, it was a lovely, lazy, Easter weekend with the people I love and people who love me. But how comfortable and content can I be when the world around me is growing dim, where hope is flickering as calls don’t come, where others might never know an easy sleep or a slow, spring, morning again.

I do not have enough time left on this planet to count all my blessings. I just wish I could pass some of them on.

Speak out. Speak loud.

Speak for those who have been silenced, for those who will be silenced, for those who might have just been thrown into the back of a van five minutes ago or are being marched onto a plane, hands shackled, wrists shackled, to a destination, far away from this place we call the land of the free.

Peace. Happy Easter. I’m praying for miracles. You?