I am third-generation Italian. Along with the natural inclination I have towards food – both cooking it and eating it; and, an admiration for pretty people on Vespas — I also inherited parents who experienced extremely strict Roman Catholic upbringings. And, who – even though they cringed every time they had to step into a vestibule – still sent my sister and I to Catholic school and had us go through the motions that good Catholics do – First Holy Communions, ashes on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday, Christmas Eve mass….There was much that put the fear of god in me about the faith that dominated my childhood, but the thing that truly stands out, to this day, was the idea of Purgatory.

The Purgatory that I heard about in Sunday school catechism class, is sort of an uncomfortable stop-over between this life and where you go next.

Webster’s definition of Purgatory:
(in Roman Catholic doctrine) a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.

There is no going straight to heaven…not until you get clean.

If you had the opportunity to read the beautifully creepy Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders – he was incredibly creative in his conjuring of a gruesome hold-over zone – but in his case a Bardo, which is Buddhist.

Webster’s definition of Bardo:
(in Tibetan Buddhism) a state of existence between death and rebirth, varying in length according to a person’s conduct in life and manner of, or age at, death.

Same idea but you are on your way to rebirth rather then heaven.

Regardless, in two vastly different philosophies, there is a belief in an in-between place. A place where you are neither here nor there. A place where you gotta sit with things, until you can pass Go.

Purgatory has been coming to mind a lot for me lately.

I always felt creating an in-between world between lives seemed pretty cruel. Like waiting for test results, or a college acceptance letter, or if you’ve been approved for a loan.

Or the outcome of a particularly crucial election

Or for a vaccine to be made

Or….

Very much like this moment in time.

I am not sure if what is on the other side of this chafing dish is heaven or hell. Or, how long it will take to get there from here.

I feel in the meantime – while I am hanging in the Bardo – my skin is a little thinner.

The next book in our queue to read together at home was Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You: A Remix of Stamped From The Beginning  by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi. When I pulled it out for the first time to read – my heart just wasn’t in it. And my daughter asked if, just for that night, we could read The Penderwicks. Ok – so, we have listened to every Penderwick book at least twice on road trips and read each book, together, at least once. Cash and Olive have read by themselves, each book, at least twice. I am certain between the three of us we could recite each of the five books verbatim. (For those who have not had the pleasure, The Penderwicks is a delightful series of books about a family of four girls growing up on the east coast with a widowed professor father – who is often spewing Latin. Over the course of the books their family blends and grows from their father remarrying and other various lovely people coming into their circle. They eat tomato sandwiches, vacation by the sea, play music and soccer, grow up, fall in love, get in trouble, and burn a lot of stuff in the kitchen. They are beautifully written and truly charming). So Stamped remains on the shelf, for now, and we continue to indulge in The Penderwicks. “The Penderwicks are just so…happy,” signed Olive.

While Limbo Land has been a challenge of a lifetime – and I feel as if I am biting my nails more with each passing day – I am grateful to be able to wrap Olive and Cash up in The Penderwicks. Grateful for the beautiful change of seasons and the excuse to make green chili stew, and Frito pie, and pumpkin muffins. For the N.B.A. and the fantastic show they’ve been putting on for us (I am not sure what we will do at my house when life inside the Bubble comes to an end.) And, bread. Yay for the bread baking journey. Knowing that there is a fresh loaf of bread waiting to be consumed – can completely turn a day around.

I have been dreaming about the Bee Hive and how — some day, some way — it will be transformed to be of service to more people, create more connection, and have a wider scope – a broader reach. This is my hope for the store. And, the Hope that is getting me through many current moments.

Purgatory nor Bardo, I don’t believe, are meant to be pleasant.

The drawn out Unknown. The uncertainty of fate. The isolation.

The good news is – neither Purgatory or Bardo are permanent states. They are layovers. At some point you find out if you are going to heaven or hell. Or, what life you will inhabit next.

We will move on.

What life will look life after Purgatory/Bardo is, of course, a mystery.

I am keeping my fingers crossed…

that whatever we move on to, has vacations by the sea and tomato sandwiches.

I would even take some Latin here and there.