Yesterday was stellar on all levels and in every way. Last night I lay awake thinking about just
what made it so before drifting off to end it.
This morning before light and sound distracted me, I came to understand
organically again what in my mind’s eye I know.
I have been holding my breath.
Literally inhaling...not
exhaling, and I’m no David Blaine. After
a minute or two, I’d feel myself getting panicky and then start gulping air
again hungrily. These were not
intentional deep breathing exercises, but rather an involuntary reflex. My spontaneous, self-induced oxygen
deprivation was the physical response to
where I was mentally. Not here. Not in the moment, but rather worrying about
the future. I was waiting for something
to happen. At attention. On alert. On guard.
Yesterday I was breathing again. I was taking deep cleansing breaths with
strong lungs, clear head and open heart.
I felt like Julie Andrews only the hills were alive with the sound of my
breath.
I didn’t write in the morning. Instead I went out for a walk right after
morning drop off. There have been many a
morning where I have logged on before 9:00 and suddenly it’s noon. The
days are short and the years are short is the refrain running through my
brain this season. Too short to spend
hours on the Internet, I decided. A mile in, I finished
listening to The Kitchen House, and
right away prayed that Grissom is working on a sequel. I have my own hopes and dreams of what’s to
come for Lavinia, Ellie and Will Smith.
I cued up The Glass Castle,
and although I know the story is sad (I’ve read it before), I was laughing out
loud. The geese and the warblers didn’t seem to mind. It was one of those mornings where you can
use a sweatshirt in the shade, but then bake in the sun. It’s the time of year for layers especially in
the morning and evening. I walked
purposefully and worked those lungs steadily. Nothing clears my head like a walk in the fresh air at the start of the day.
I flung open windows and doors when I got home. The boys delighted in following the sun from
room to room. Not the chippie on high
alert, nor the tail taunting squirrel could even coax them from their sun
bathing spots. I smiled as I noticed
their orange marmalade coats shimmering like brand new bronze pennies. I prepped dinner: pasta two ways. Bolognese
for the kids and chicken enchilada for the adults. Double happiness. I sang along with the Indigo Girls while I baked a banana bread and also a stored
stash of chocolate chip cookie dough for after school cookwiches. At 70 degrees, it was an ice cream kinda
day. Perhaps, one of the last.
Nothing centers me more than creating in my kitchen. The purpose of chopping, chiffonading,
stirring and slicing brings me stores of peace.
The order of loads of fresh stacked laundry and clean washed floors also fills
my house…my life…with concord in lieu of chaos.
I thought of Karen Maezan Miller and decided that I need to read Hand Wash Cold again. I never used to entertain the idea of
reading a book twice…not even beloved titles, but I’m softening to the idea…I’m
changing my maxims and mantras and mandates. I started Walls’s Half Broke Horses. I always meant to read it. It’s all Jeanette Walls this go around.
After a couple chapters, it was time to pick up Miss
Bit. Every other Wednesday is early
release. T. Bone made plans to hang out
with friends so I left my girl hanging at drop off with the promise of her own
special surprise. She loved the suspense
as much as she loathed it, and I know it made her short day even shorter. I threw her rubber boots and net in the trunk
because it was just the finest day for froggin.’ She was happy with the after school
detour. I knew she would be. She loves these trails and ponds as much as I
do, but boy oh boy does she act like she owns them. I must be as quiet as a mouse and slink along
in her shadow lest I disturb a creature or critter she may creep up on and
catch. I don’t mind though because I
have yet to catch a single frog.
She caught two yesterday. Her
bounty could have been more bountiful, but my empathetic frog whisperer passed on a few
who looked too frightened for a visit. Nothing fills my heart more than watching my kids be who they are meant to be. Making their ways in the world. Discovering passions. Teaching me what they know and sharing what they find...sharing how they feel.
She opted to skip swimming so we could carve pumpkins in
the late afternoon sun. She decided to
make a frog. It was perfect. Well, it wasn’t, and yet it was in its very
imperfection. I pointed out that I was
especially proud of her for forging ahead and finishing her creation even when
the slippery, uneven surface wasn’t exactly cooperating. I then balked at my spooky cat, and she repeated
my fresh spoken words right back at me.
I decided it best to embrace my less than perfect jack o' lantern and lead by example not just
epitaph.
As night fell, and fall is exactly what it does this time of
year, the boys returned from football practice.
Coach executed the dinner I prepped, while I snuck upstairs for a hot shower. After a delicious, carb-laden dinner, Coach and I turned off the
television and talked until Miss Bit summoned. It was time to read with her
before bed. She left and T. Bone soon snuggled in. I closed my book and my
eyes for a nanosecond and was out. He
nudged me and asked how I could fall asleep so quickly. I was deep breathing. That’s how he knew I was gone. Contentment,
I told him before I drifted off in deep peace for the night.
