I wait.

I have done my part.

I have plumped these girls up with special feed with added nutrients. Lots of good grains and herbs and mealworms and healthy fruit and veggie snacks.

They have basked in the vitamin D rich sunshine in the afternoons. I’ve even added scented lavender to their dust bath.

But these freeloaders haven’t given up a single egg. They need to pay the rent.

To me, the idea of an egg is a promise of a delectable inner richness, a fertile little bundle of creative ingenuity.

Something complete within itself. Something unique, self-contained, even elegant.

But, in reality, an egg is simply a vulnerable, fragile, inexpensive and throwaway thing, to most people.

In my research on chickens, I learned recently that when an egg is being laid, as it exits the hen, it is briefly coated in an invisible substance called bloom. The bloom seals the egg’s pores to protect the thin shell from bacteria and germs.

I like this idea, this way that nature contrives to send its most precious commodity out into the world with a built in safety seal.

The ordinary egg, but crafted with an almost magical elixir.

During this pandemic, I’d sure like to have some of that stuff – a little reassurance of protection. But a mask will have to do.

Our bodies are vulnerable to disease. Even so, I think of how perfect they still are. And how most of the time we are able to fend off as much as we do.

Sort of like a chicken egg, we have these permeable pores and scratches and even open cuts, where life reaches in. And nothing is certain. To live in these bodies we have to recognize our weaknesses yet stay confident in our strengths.

And so I try to come to terms with these feelings of ambiguous loss during this pandemic situation, knowing that there is no clear resolution to the problem.

Like the fact that I haven’t seen my daughter in 9 months.

the pores and cracks are also where the light comes in

Experts say I should grieve the losses of everyday life: being with family, friends, getting out into the world, hugging, touching.

And I have read that I should embrace the “both-and” way of thinking: that is, the situation is terrible, but it is also doable. Or, this situation is crazy, but I am not.

I should maybe lower my expectations a bit, and adjust to things being graded with a C – just okay, but good enough. Band-aids.

And maybe not be completely satisfied right now, but know that there are still simple joys that can fulfill, even heal me.

For me that is writing this blog. It is not great literature and I often don’t have anything at all to write about, but that’s okay.

I mean, chickens?

But still, it’s the writing part that brings me back to center.

To where I can feel more myself, and even a bit stronger.

Life is not perfect, my skin is sensitive, I get sick, I like to complain. But the pores and the cracks are also where the light comes in, as they say – where I am allowed the rare glimpses of wholeness, tenacity, even grit.

Anyway, I’ve had a long day today and my “surge” capacity is dimming – I’m sure you feel the same.

But I’m gonna keep on trying to write, trying to release some dopamine, and to attempt to feel like a competent human.

And to stay safe, not perfectly intact, but healthy. Healthy in the way of “both-and” – both grieving and coping patiently, in the same breath, and maybe even managing to be hopeful, every now and then.

Oh, and waiting for eggs.