My kids and Ed laugh at me for always wanting to have all my pegs in place in advance. It's not that I am inflexible. Changes are inevitable. But let's start with some semblance of a plan and take it from there! I've kept an events and appointment calendar ever since I was a kid and had no appointments to speak of. In travel, I have my flights booked and seats selected through March and I'm seriously thinking of making a commitment for June's trip. Yes I change my mind and rebook and cancel. But roughly, I know where I'm heading and when.
You could analyze this to death and conclude that surely my life of many draconian shifts and movements has pushed me to always want to have a plan. Fine, I can accept that. I'll add, too that in postwar Poland everyone lived in a state of permanent uncertainty and it wasn't cool, it was a "one day at a time" mentality that was foisted on us because planning was so... pointless. Now I'm overcompensating.
One reason why Ed and I are currently living in separate spaces (for the time being?) is because for many years he ignored this fear of uncertainty that is deeply ingrained in me. My "I need to know what's ahead" was mostly amusing to him (as it is to others) and he mostly paid little attention to it. Until I couldn't take it anymore and moved out to my own place where I could fashion my own future. (Which of course is likely to be dismantled shortly, as we are now figuring out a better path for us together. In some form.)
So what stands out to me this morning is that I wake up completely confused as to where I should be at what time and for what purpose. I'm trying very hard not to mind, but of course, I'm fighting strong rip currents here. The urge to call/text/email others to get some clarity is very strong. There are two elements at play: Snowdrop is still sick (I think) and so my childcare is (probably) suspended. Then, too, I had told Ed I'd bring him some leftovers and muffins this morning, but there was no family dinner last night and so there are no leftovers, and Snowdrop (probably) is not here today so there are no muffins. Besides, I'm falling into a pattern of too many trips to the farmette. Which amuses Ed ("you move out and then you spend the day here"), which in turn exasperates me.
It's a pretty morning. Cooler, at last. Having a southern exposure in the darker season is pure heaven. I see sunrise skies to the left and sunset skies to the right. So, this morning there's this:
Breakfast -- well, I have to work through the Muesli. Here's my final take on this: I realize that when I travel, say, to Switzerland, I don't just have Bircher Muesli. I add a croissant or if I'm craving more healthy options -- a slice of dark bread perhaps. Something with a crunch! Something that is a great accompaniment to those last sips of milky coffee. Bircher Muesli is, by definition, soggy. I think my experiment with Swiss living will push me right back to the land of granola and the occasional croissant. Crunch! Yum! I'm missing it today.
By mid-morning the uncertainty drives me nuts so I get in the car and go to Owen Woods Conservancy. An 8 minute drive from the Edge. It's a park I know well from years of living nearby.
And it's at its best in the Fall. True, the more radiant fall colors are not with us yet. Still, the Sumac bushes are a splash of ruby red and the prairie grasses and blooms add a texture that is magnificent.
Early autumn, at its finest.
(And a bluebird, spotted coming out of its bluebird hut! I know, I know, barely visible here, but still, I felt the elation of seeing something rare and beautiful.)
Right about then I find out that Snowdrop is indeed still home with a fever and so I'm off duty this afternoon. I let Ed know that a visit later in the week makes more sense. In one fell swoop I wiped clean my calendar for this Monday.
There is some joy in allowing yourself time to read (I'm alternating between two novels at once), time to do a stand up yoga routine, time to put on joyful classical music, time to wipe down with almond oil the wood furniture in the apartment. At the same time, I realize that this isn't me. This sudden urge to take a nap? Not me. Going back to my French practice? Nope, not me. This closing of the door to everyone and everything, in the middle of the day no less, certainly not me.
Someone recently said that retirement is the time to really challenge yourself to be the author of your story. Well, maybe I was the one who said that. In any case, you are responsible for creating something out of whatever resources are left to you. But of course, it's easier to let go of this responsibility and simply to keep on truckin' in the same way you always have done it. To check in with your kids and see what they need. To apply your cooking skills to the demanding eater(s) at your table. To clean up other people's messes (broadly speaking), including nature's messes (because nature is not neat and tidy, not by a long shot). You don't then have to be an author at all. More like an editor who watches over and facilitates the creative work of others. Taking the responsibility for your own text, your own day is hard, especially if you feel that doing things for yourself is tantamount to being a slacker. Self-indulgent, privileged, and maybe a little empty. Who is made better by the fact that I'll speak French just a little more fluently next time I'm in France?
Ed has said (most recently) that I spend too much time doing stuff for others. You'd think that's a compliment, but in my mind, it's not that at all. There's an intellectual laziness to it: if I fill my days snipping daylilies, digging up weeds, chasing cats and chickens, fixing snacks for the kids, picking out books for them, and cleaning up Ed's messes, then I can check the day off as productive, without having to think much at all about what else I might be doing.
So I struggle with these thoughts today. Thankfully, tomorrow I return to a day with imperatives: muffins to bake, foods to deliver, a child to care for. No decisions, no guilt, no worry!
with love...
