Labor (Day) of love

Labor day weekend stretched for four days for me. It was a sublime break from my normal routine and I slipped easily into a new one of sleeping in, enjoying the sunshine in the front yard, and working around the house. But, Tuesday morning I was back to it--hair dripping from the shower, I scrambled for keys, scooped up my laptop, and grumbled at the un-percolated espresso pot. I didn't have time to wait. I turned off the stove and decided I'd grab an americano on my way in. Back to it. My sweet hound dog looked up at me as I slipped on my shoes and grabbed the doorknob...have the last four days together meant nothing to you? his brown eyes seemed to cry. I literally sighed out loud but avoided a dramatic goodbye the way I do with him every morning: "Be good and guard the house." I said, petting his square, flat brow with my barely-free hand. "I'll be home tonight. I love you!"

This past weekend was nothing in particular--I did my normal stuff--but felt big. Actually, it marked my sixth year in Portland, my first full year in my home, and five years at my job at the museum. I had thought about going away for my four days off. Concecutive days off always seem like a potential vacation to me. I usually take advantage--climb a summer summit in the Cascades, camp on the coast, something like that. But, in the end I just stayed where I was. It was perfect. The highlight, (greasy) hands down, was the soul food feast my boyfriend and I made on Monday night. He'd left town about a month ago, with an east coast trajectory and plans to head to Mexico for a few months after that. I expected we wouldn't see eachother for the better part of a year. We'd said good-bye and meant it with the bipolar emotional mix of loss, possibility, love, and resentment that tends to accompany departures. About two weeks later he called to say he was headed back.

He's in the midst of a lot of change, now. I can see it on his face, though I've stopped wondering what he's thinking or anticipating what he might do. I know what it feels like to waffle between putting down roots and heading off with just your self. Both are worthwhile roads, I think, but very personal choices.

I am glad he's here with me now, for sure. We've had some of our happiest times together in the past two weeks doing nothing special just the normal routine, but I've become aware of how often that feels precious. In the midst of his new choices, I think I see my own in a new light. I'm sure I'll hit that crossroads again myself--the choice between roots and wanderlust. As the Labor Day anniversaries roll past I realize how content I have been just staying put. My life is good and I'm happy. I can tell when I feel it in each small moment of my routine, even (and sometimes especially) in my daily work--scrubbing the dishes in the kitchen sink, driving home just before sunset after a long day of work, taking the dog to the park--and I love it.

It tooks us about two and a half hours to make our from-scratch, soul food dinner last Monday (longer if you count the hour we spent picking blackberries). Fried chicken, collard greens, black-eyed peas, maccoroni and cheese, buttermilk biscuits, blackberry cobbler--it was a big effort. It was beyond delicious. I've always known that the good things are worth the work, that dedication (and patience) pay off. But, I've never before felt so satisfied with the work I do, everyday, just making my life move. I'm grateful for it. I'll celebrate that; no holiday needed.