Aurora Australis
I want to write again, but I am besieged by scattered toys, crowded bench space, and piles of washing. Said washing machine doesn't complete the final spin cycle, meaning I have to get medieval on it and wring out every item of clothing by hand. I have told my husband and he murmured something about having to open the back of the washing machine to recalibrate the drum balance, but he has forgotten, and I don't want to nag him. In the pottery where he potters, he is finishing restaurant orders that were placed a year ago and were so large, it has taken countless hours, firings, and bags of clay to complete. I have sanded and packed boxes full of handmade plates that he has driven to Sydney and come back in one day (about 11 hours on the road). A hundred other orders have come in since, and we work and we mumble and we stumble. We try to raise our kids right. To plant tomatoes after frosts, to pull up weeds, and count our blessings. We pull our belts tighter. We look in...
