A pressure cooker. You know the ones, with a latched handle, and bobber that bounces on the top of the pot spewing steam. That's what this season (for lack of a better word) feels like. Nothing penetrates, hardly anything escapes.
But Grandma just came by and tweaked the regulator. SSSHHHHHHHHHH was the sound of making cookies. SSSSSSHHHHHHH was the sound of writing notes to dear ones far away. SSSSSSHHHHHHH was the sound of working with my hands. Release was the sound of creating.
Welcome sounds they are.
But now it's time to reseal the gaps. Just a little while longer, I think. I remind myself the pressure is meant to bring good things. Like Grandma's roast.
At the top of the list of good things this will bring me is sincere, profound gratitude for moments without pressure.
But Grandma just came by and tweaked the regulator. SSSHHHHHHHHHH was the sound of making cookies. SSSSSSHHHHHHH was the sound of writing notes to dear ones far away. SSSSSSHHHHHHH was the sound of working with my hands. Release was the sound of creating.
Welcome sounds they are.
But now it's time to reseal the gaps. Just a little while longer, I think. I remind myself the pressure is meant to bring good things. Like Grandma's roast.
At the top of the list of good things this will bring me is sincere, profound gratitude for moments without pressure.
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I like conversation. Your comments promote conversation. You know what to do. Vielen Dank.