Suzanna
I first wake up in the dark at around 4 a.m. to the first rain in many days drumming lightly on the porch roof.
Drifting back to sleep, I think through what I would have to do when I spring into action: take the last of the trash and recycling to the curb, pack lunches, and offer breakfast to my kids before walking them to the nearby public school they all attend.
Our morning goes smoothly. Although the plants I look at on our way to school still seem stressed from the weeks of nearly completely clear skies, I take note of a new puddle from the earlier rain while waiting for my youngest’s teacher to come out and gather her class and start the day.
It’s a work-from-home day for me, so after getting a quick cup of coffee to go at the neighborhood cafe, I put pen to paper and map out upcoming projects and needs and get to moving along on multiple exhibitions and related program in various stages of progress.
I break for lunch midday and head over to a neighbor who is also working remotely to do a quick catch up and enjoy feta with olives and cucumbers alongside fresh sourdough with hummus and brie. I savor the company and the food, and feel so grateful for a parting gift of a delicate paper wasp nest for my two oldest children. I head back to my living room and finish out the rest of my workday.
A little after five, I head out front to sweep my sidewalk. The oak leaves from my tree are beginning to fall. A friend comes by and we head out on foot to a nearby trail. The hike ends up being three miles across rocks, over bridges and through a late summer forest. It feels good to walk and talk as we both continue to navigate a lot of transitions over the past few years. We finish up our hang out by grabbing a few snacks from the store at the corner.
I get in my car to head to the hardware store with just enough time to see the sunset as I finish paying. I love how parking lots often have the best sky views. While walking from my car to the Mann Music Center to catch the first show of the season with The Philadelphia Orchestra, I call my kids to say good night. We have a two household family and it’s important to me to hear about their day and see each other over FaceTime, however briefly.
As I enter the Mann, I see the last poem being written for the night courtesy of Dream Poet for Hire. As I get settled in my seat, I take in the sounds of crickets and cicadas intertwined with the many musicians tuning their instruments on stage. I love how the Mann is built, with its honey-hued wood and giant, slow ceiling fans and recall the many shows I have watched here over the years — from the grass and also across the fence, or while finishing a shift back when I had a summer server job at a restaurant that used to be at the top of the hill overlooking the skyline.
The concert itself is exquisite: Mahler and Debussy grace the crowd amidst a warm breeze. All the while, I watch a large moth fluttering to intricate compositions that fill the outdoor theater with their own movements. At times, the crickets and cicadas seem just as amplified as the many string instruments on stage — the effect is electric and I am so grateful to have motivated to go out solo this evening. Heading home under a bright and vivid moon, I call my father and recount the evening across thousands of miles. We both make mention of my late mom’s love of Debussy.
As I get my belongings gathered for a long day ahead on site on Thursday, I once again feel such joy for the experiences of a day that began with a brief respite of rain — however fleeting.    
