Keep moving; don't stop. . .

Today I have been on a cleaning frenzy and have finally, around 8 PM, called it quits.  When I finished the upstairs and started having thoughts of tackling the basement, I knew it was time to execute some will power.  It's times like this when I can hear Bob saying, "Hon, don't you ever know when it's time to quit?!"  I guess I don't but I believe I'm learning.  It's not that I'm overly ambitious - it's more that I seem to need to keep moving, always keeping my eye on the "next thing."  My theory about this behavior is that it is an avoidance method.  What am I avoiding?  Now, that's a good question.  I suppose if I ever stopped long enough, I would find out, wouldn't I?  The fact is, I already know so that's why it doesn't concern me very much and, in fact, I'm quite content with filling my days with the kind of busyness that exhausts me physically, yet allows for long periods of clear thinking, prayer and meditation, and lots of "listening."  It's my way of being still...if that makes sense.  I do understand that for me, psychologically, it's a way to connect one moment to the next, one day to the next, and so on, so that they all blend into one.  It is a deeply ingrained habit that evolved farther back than I can remember, out of childhood fears - an attempt to make time stand still, so to speak.  In other words, if "now" is safe, and if it is always "now" (if you keep moving, don't stop, don't sleep...) then nothing fearsome can squeeze in.  That was my childhood theory, anyway.  Of course, now I am intellectually aware of the fallacy of that theory and I also understand more clearly from a spiritual perspective.  However, some of the "mechanics" - the habits, remain.  I'm okay with that.  It's who I am. 

And it gives me something to ponder while I'm doing other things.  They say, "Life is what's happening while you're busy doing other things."  I thank God over and over that I can say, "Other things have been happening while I've been busy with life."   I haven't "missed the dance."  How awesome is that?!

So, tomorrow, maybe I'll clean the basement......   

    

If the tooth fits. . .

When is it the right time to go to the dentist? 

Two thirty, of course!

=^)

Yesterday while eating a leftover Christmas candy cane, one of the pieces felt a little peculiar in my mouth.  It didn't take long to realize that a large portion (80% as confirmed by my dentist) of one of my lower molars had broken away and was clattering around the rest of my teeth along with the crunchy candy granules.  At first I wasn't sure which tooth it had come from so, very gingerly, I ran the tip of my tongue around until it settled on the now foreign location.  I wished with all my might that I could just press the broken piece back in place and then forget any of this had happened but a person doesn't get to be my age without learning, somewhere along the line, that "wishing won't make it so."

As I fondled the bit of self that, until now had been a part of me for most of my life, I began to think about all it and I had experienced together in my journey over the years.  That began to make me feel very melancholy so I made fun, instead, by joking about putting it under my pillow.  Then I drank a cup of hot tea and went to bed, pretending the problem would go away as I slept.  But, of course, it didn't.

That's behind me now; that road has been traveled and another day has come and almost gone.  Luckily, my dentist had an opening and I am now the semi-contented wearer of a firmly cemented temporary crown.  Is it worth the hour of pricking, jabbing, drilling, poking, gagging and prodding?  My guess is 'yes' but I'm a little too tired at the moment to know for sure.  I did enjoy having my own personal TV during the procedure, complete with remote and headphones.  I turned the volume up loud to drown out the buzzing sounds of the drill - which put me in mind of chainsaws in autumn.  I chose the National Geographic channel...to make a good impression - and also because I am in protest against the propaganda that permeates the news channels. As a result, I will always associate my reconstructed tooth with the vision of a boatload of men dumping a tub of blood into the ocean in order to entice the great white sharks.  Surely there must be something that needs doing more than that.  But what do I know? 

One thing I do know is that it is not a good idea to go shopping when you're numbed and dopey.  I'm speculating that the Novocaine may have infiltrated my capacity to reason using logic.  I came home with a large slotted spoon that I don't need and a new little coffee pot, just because it's cute!

No candy canes, though.

Foggy and groggy. . .

Morning Chapel...then Curves...back home having breakfast on this rainy day.  Woke up with that pulling sensation when I swallow that feels like I am going to swallow my left ear.  Hoping it's just something allergy related and that if I ignore it, it'll go away as quickly as it came. 

The rain is welcome although it was a bit foggy driving earlier this morning.  I like driving with the sun roof open in this kind of weather (as long as I remember to close it again.)  I've found that as long as it's not pouring, it doesn't really rain inside the car when it's moving and the brisk air is quite invigorating.  I hope a little of that vigor kicks in soon; I'm in need of some today.

Let's see...no yardwork in this weather...and without sunshine, lighting is too drab for painting in the basement. Time to re-evaluate my to-do list as I entertain myself, visualizing my ear suddenly being sucked into the side of my head.  

So...exactly what does one do  when life has handed you groggy-ness?  Make grog?  =^)  

   

Sock sorting. . .

Why, here comes the sun!  I thought it was going to be a rainy day.  I had resigned myself to working inside today.  Shall I "shift gears" and head outside, instead?  I should probably stick with Plan A, for as soon as I get settled outside with my tools, dressed in my "yard-garb," surely it will cloud over and rain.  On the other hand, maybe it won't and in that case, I might be kicking myself later.  I'm not sure why it even matters so much but my guess is that since I am, for the most part, in control of my own daily schedule, I really have a need to assign myself specific tasks to undertake each day.  That is partly because I like the sense of organized accomplishment that system provides.  More importantly, I am one person trying to maintain what two used to do and I have fear of falling behind.  There have been a lot of adjustments to make, though, in order to settle into a pattern that is adaptable to my own strength and capabilities.  Those adjustments have gone well, I think, but not without a lot of encouragement from family and friends. 

Right now, there are socks strewn all over the bed and despite the sunshine teasing me through the window, I think I'll stay inside and finish sorting.  I like my socks organized!  They were getting all askew so I dumped the drawer out to get a fresh start.  One thing is for sure - never again will I buy black and navy in the same style.  The only way to distinguish one from the other is to hold them together, under the window.  Artificial light will not do.  I tried laying black in one direction and navy in the other but that's how the "sock jam" got started, making it hard to close the drawer.  My system has been to categorize according to texture and length...thin socks, thick socks, short socks, long socks    (Sounds like a Dr. Seuss book)...work socks, dress socks, sneaker socks.  However, that no longer works, what with the black/navy confusion that has cropped up.  So...I'm thinking maybe I'll re-categorize according to color.  Or...maybe I'll just get rid of the navy socks.  OR......I could decide on the entirely carefree system of shoving them all randomly back into the drawer and grabbing any two to wear each morning. 

Much ado about nothing.  Is it really?  Nothing, I mean.  I have to chuckle as I think of "menial tasks" and what Rick Warren wrote about them.  I'd be interested to know how he organizes HIS sock drawer.  =^)

I'm not sure it matters how I keep my socks. There must be a better purpose for this day. 

Besides, sandal season is coming right up.     

  

The rhythm of life. . .

I have covered some miles since coffee at 5:30 this morning and have taken care of many of those little errands that always seem to accumulate, as well as a few other obligations.  Back home now, breakfast is in order, once I decide what's most appealing.  Pizza sounds good.  The English toffee cappuccino I grabbed during my travels did help to tide me over until now.

This is a typical March day; fickle as ever.  I'm glad I dressed in layers because I have had to shed clothing along the way ever since the sun came up and added its glittering brilliance to the day.  Living in the mountains, I enjoy the contrast between home and the villages in lower elevations where traces of snow and winter are not to be found.  I love walking around my property, stepping in and out of seasons according to where the sun shines most and areas that are primarily shaded.  If you listen closely, you can hear the melting snow seeping down into the thirsty earth.  Together with the trickle of moist, meandering mini-streams and the return of spring bird songs, the rhythm of life makes its own music.  

Spring snow is unique - slushier, heavier, grainier and it smells different.  When I got home, I took the snow shovel and, bare armed and gloveless, I worked up a sweat shoving the rest of the loose, frozen stuff off my front sidewalk.  The front of my house is one of those shady spots I mentioned.  In the entire surrounding area, I think the shady strip along the front of my house must be one of the last places  where remnants of snow can still be found each year.  (Once, when the snow piles had been exceptionally huge, I got impatient and dissolved them with the garden hose.  I have also been known to shovel it all out into the grass where the sun shines.  But usually I just wait for it to melt.)

I'm not sure what the rest of this day will bring but I hope I remember to take some more moments to step outside and listen to the snow melt.

"In the cold and snow of winter there's a spring that waits to be, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see." ~Natalie Sleeth    

Holes in the wall. . .

Scrubbing the hall paneling was on the agenda for today.  It's one of those tasks that, once accomplished, can instill a feeling of either satisfaction or disappointment.  It depends on the intended purpose.  Since hearing a reactive, "Wow!  Look at that clean paneling!" is NOT my goal, I think I'm okay with the simple satisfaction of checking it off on my to-do list and quietly admiring the somewhat more uniform glow each time I pass through the hallway.  

It is during the carrying out of this type of task when I experience my most fruitful quiet time and the most enlightening spiritual communing.  Author, Rick Warren (Purpose Driven Life) is spot on when he reminds us that even the most menial tasks can (and should) glorify God.  As with music, there is something in the rhythmic motion that settles the mind and we become more receptive to "listening."  Sometimes our minds are so boggled by the struggle to think things through that we forget to listen.

Today, during my listening, I was thinking about how thankful I am for the strength and agility to take care of most of the household upkeep.  I'm not interested in martyrdom, however, and when necessary, I do "call in the troops" and count them among my blessings!

There's something very tenderly reassuring as I go about caring for things that Bob put in place - each tile, each screw or in this case, each nail in the paneling.  There is a connection there that I can't really explain.  Today, for instance, I recalled quite vividly the process of the paneling going up.  The selection, the purchase, the installation and the conversations we had along the way.  While I am most assuredly living in the now and not in the past, I am thankful for these spontaneous reflections and their delightful reminders of how blessed I am. 

Putting paneling along the lower half of the wall was a solution to end the perpetual hole-in-the-wall problem.  Let me explain:  First, you have to remember, we had a house full of kids.  There were doorstops for each door; those rubber-tipped kind on a spring that screws into the molding at floor level.  The "crawling age" children took great delight in "playing" them like musical instruments.  Boing, boing, boing!  As a result, they were always loose and falling out.  The older, "running age" children had a habit of flinging doors open, driving the doorknob through the wall (and slamming them shut...sometimes on unsuspecting fingers, unfortunately).  They even discovered it was possible to "ride" a door by holding both doorknobs, straddling the edge and lifting their feet.  We were able to curb the door riding, for the most part...I think.  They probably did it when we weren't looking.  Anyway...it seemed that there was always either a gaping hole or a patch on the wall in our hallway.  The patch, you could live with...sort of.  The hole was another thing.  Toddlers are absolutely fascinated by holes in walls that they have to stand on their tip-toes to reach and try to peer into.  They are incapable of heeding "Leave that alone!" no matter how often it is spoken or what voice inflection is used.  The hole also became a game activity site, I discovered one day.  One child would drop something in while another would be stationed in the basement to retrieve it.  But of course, none were ever retrieved because a house isn't exactly constructed as such.  So there were a few tears, too, over items that vanished into the dark hole of lost toys.  Who knows what all is in there; I have no idea.  Although, I do know for certain there is one plastic screwdriver.  I did happen to witness that.  Gosh, it seems like yesterday......

But this is today and what a gift it has been to spend part of it with visions of family I love so much, then and now, knowing they have all the tools they need to care for their own holes in the wall.