right now

Andy goes on weekend retreats.  To recharge, ski, center himself.  The girls and I have quiet days at home.  I knit by the fire while they play and draw.  Stitch by stitch I see this sweater becoming.  It wasn't long ago that I didn't have the patience or the presence for this kind of slow, stitch by stitch kind of work.  At least for something as time consuming as a sweater.  I hurried and made mistakes and abandoned things before they were done.  But now.  Now these moments are everything.  I have found that I can relish each millimeter of yarn as it wraps around the needle and is slipped off.  The texture of the yarn through my fingers changes as it slides along, thin then thick, then thin again.  I notice that mistakes only happen when my thoughts float away.  Back here with this garment appearing one stitch at a time, all is well. 

We went to Mayo again last week.  We spoke to a surgeon there who believes he can remove tumors from Andy's left lung safely and well.  Tumors would remain in the right lung but the material from the left lung could be sent off for genetic analysis in hopes of finding a clinical trial for Andy. Many subtle options were given as to when the surgery can happen, how it should happen, if it should happen and we are trying to sort it all out.  We'll meet with the oncologist at Mayo in a couple of weeks and try to make some final decisions.  In the meantime Andy camps out under clear winter skies with a close friend, carves to his heart's content, enchants the kids with studies of Greek mythology and teaches skiing to a pack of them each Thursday.

And I find myself strangely settled.  Fear and worry have found a place that doesn't ride front and center.  I remember the rawness with a kind of gratitude that can come in the slowness of time unfolding.  I can know that the future is as uncertain as ever.  But I can be here now.  I guess that's something I've always wanted.