The Saints Preserve Me

This is an excerpt from the weekly News-Loveletter. If you would like it sent to your inbox directly (with all the other juicy bits, including a mini joy practice), you can add yourself to my mailing list here.

This is it, friends.

It's the time of year that our garden's offerings magically transform into winter meals. A fabulous trick, right?

What you're looking at in that basket of greens above is twelve half-pint jars of pesto that have since taken up residence in the freezer. They'll save the day for last minute lunches or happy gifting throughout the year.

Tonight, Seda and I put up 26 pints of peaches. At close to 90 degrees Fahrenheit. And yes, I did sweat it.

Big projects call for shifting my joy practice into high gear. My joy doesn't naturally climb in the face of adversity. I make the shift because feeling good matters. When I put my attention on what's needed to find my way to joy, I get there faster.

This morning I washed jars and lids early, before work, hoping to fit in all the day's goodness with ease. I'm still working my way through that now, actually, posting this newsletter off to you just before bed.

6 flats of peaches arrived midday—something to be reckoned with. I felt stretched to tend my other work while juggling the harvest. I wanted more teamwork and felt resentment rising. Where was Seda?

I wished for a slower pace. And I wanted to give it all my best.

The minutes ticked by while I washed fruit. Seda finally left her drawing board and joined me in the kitchen. I felt squirmy inside.

I told Seda I was having a hard time.

She balked. Like me, her plate was full. She was doing her best. I felt her resistance more in what she didn't say than in what she did.

Harvest. Bounty. Where will we fit it all in? What a divine problem to have!

Seda told me she'd Primed for us to have fun. I gently laid my uncomfortable feelings before her. I wanted her to understand what I'd done so far, to empathize.

And I wanted her support in doing it differently next time. I know sharing the load matters to her. And next time would likely arrive tomorrow.

I told Seda my experience, while remembering that I'm ultimately responsible for my own attitude adjustment. I filled the water trough outside for a cool plunge in case she didn't get it. I was prepared to bring myself together solo.

I took the peaches I'd washed to Seda at the cutting board. Something caught my eye. I asked her why she was wearing a baseball cap in the house.

"To keep my hair out of my eyes," she said, continuing to slice. I imagined her reaching up to fix wayward locks with sticky fingers. It made sense.

"May I braid it for you?" I asked. Braiding her own hair is still a challenge since shoulder surgery. Seda nodded.

As I ran my fingers through her silky hair and plaited it anew, she softened. "That feels good," she said.

"It feels like you forgive me."

I smiled back at her. Tenderness. That's what we most need, but golly, it can be hard to find when irritated.

As I extend this kindness to my beloved partner, I feel it myself.

Love is love, coming and going. We both learn along the way.

May the saint in you find the saint in me.

And let's pickle everything.

Together.