in between

a few things happened since I last wrote in december.

ava dyed her hair bright pink. ezra grew a hundred inches and then, turned thirteen. 

I read seventeen books. sampled eggplant ice cream, took my first large format photograph, bumped into my modern dance hero on the new york subway and broke the hammock in the backyard, though not all necessarily in that order.

new people moved into the houses next door and across the street, a real coffee shop opened up in our neighborhood and the cherry red cardinal who regularly flits around the backyard was given a name. larry. his name is larry. 

I taught ezra how to determine perfect avocado ripeness, introduced ava to the goldfinch and made ward teach me how to make a good cup of coffee. I drink coffee now. one morning I just woke up and said, this is madness! give me coffee! true story.

I broke down and finally bought myself a proper bra. rearranged the bedroom furniture in a blind fury, road tripped to nashville for junk and funnel cakes, shot my first record album cover, participated in my fifteenth polaroid week, contemplated a job (once again) waitressing at waffle house and realized rage vacuuming is probably the only workout I'll ever really need.

ezra learned to hold his own in the basketball games that take place on the courts up at the park. ava went to her first prom, had a horrible time and my heart seized up and broke the way it always does when my kids hurt. I stood beneath a few trees-- the old angel oak in john's island, south carolina and a cherry blossom tree in brooklyn. both times, my knees went wobbly and I felt glad to be alive. 

I started to write here at least a dozen times, probably more, but the words turned soft, dissolved into nothing, always. this country unraveled in ways I (naively) thought not possible, and america repeatedly confirmed in horrific, heartbreaking new ways what I already knew to be true: it does not value the lives of black and brown people. I questioned the church. not my faith, not God, but the church. in the months that fell between december and june, I grappled, stumbled, felt hopeless.

to be clear, I continue to grapple, stumble, feel hopeless. but in between, God. avocados to check for ripeness. pink hair, subway magic, childhood milestones. red cardinals named larry, new neighbors who grow sunflowers and sit on front porches while children jump through sprinklers, new neighbors whose parents are from different countries. good trees to stand under, meaty books to read and, thank the good Lord, hot coffee in the morning. 

in between, privilege to check, again and again. conversations to have, hard conversations. learning to do, learning, learning, learning, always, reading, acknowledging, learning. in between, ways to give, work to do, a chorus to join, the great, unending push forward. 

in between, we have voices, we have hands, we can work. 

in between is when everything happens.