It’s been a metaphorical hibernation for the Johnson household of late, with two jobs, one dissertation-in-progress, and one autistic boy becoming an autistic teenager. Add to this various peripheral family obligations, and some surprise, intense filial odysseys—two harrowing hospitalizations for our son, one medical, the other psychological/psychiatric—and we’ve not seen, nor been seen by, anyone. We really are “outside” people by nature, so hibernation stinks—especially this past winter here in Milwaukee, which was miserable. 

But God is merciful, if tardy. I write this on my backyard deck on a resplendent June 23^rd evening (6:45 p.m.), and it’s 91 degrees, and perfectly still. The only things breaking the calm are the things that should: children calling one another, people grilling, the birds, and the occasional airplane crossing over New Berlin on approach to Milwaukee’s airport. And the Cubs are on WGN. The trees and flowers in our backyard have bloomed, so we are surrounded by a verdant symphony of grass, plants, and robust trees. We weather the winter for days just like this one.

We’re back.