Quarantine Refueling

Fridays have always been tough for the consistent flow of schedule… early morning Rotary meeting means either I rise at 5 for quiet time with the Big Guy followed by writing, but more often than not, I rise in time to pretty up for a meeting and race out the door to gather with my Rotarians.  On a typical day, aka not-quarantined, I’m home by 8:15 and at the shop at 9am to open at 10am.  Not much time for my regular morning refueling. I always feel like something’s missing, I’m a little off, a little lop-sided…as if I’ve forgotten to brush my teeth or apply deodorant, but weightier than that. 

I jump right out of bed and onto the figurative treadmill…racing racing racing all day until I’m emptier than empty.  The likely problem is that I never started it filled. All day, I was running on my own efforts, on fumes from the day prior.  Yesterday’s goodness was for yesterday… this day has its own new mercies, own new troubles.  And the days when I don’t first fill-up, it’s nearly impossible to complete the work planned with great efficiency…it’s not a lack of drive or focus, it’s sheer Source.  My tanks are empty before I even start. 

Today’s no different…my brain and dna is flitting from one task to another: wipe the counters down, spray extra disinfectant on the handles, put the dishes away, run another load, gather the laundry, separate the laundry, why isn’t the Roomba charging? I have to pay the bills and write, but also film a video for the shop… I’ve been slacking on my contact with social media.  Although yesterday I scrolled and scrolled for hours as if it was my full time paid position.  Atop the scrolling, I’ve been rolling like a true vacationer having cocktails at 3, another 1 or 2 after dinner along with an endless supply of sweets. This morning, I woke with a low level yet ever present headache (lack of water or excess alcohol?) and what feels like black tar between my ears and throughout my brainspace, envisioning and replaying hilarious TikToks on my memory screen. No new and creative thoughts are bubbling because of the muck.

So I stop, and I wait…stilling myself from the flurry. Take a deep breath, expectantly listening for the still small voice.  It’s always there, it’s me that creates the busy distance.  So I reel back in, yet again, nestling back in with the Big Guy.  What should I do next?  What’s the next One Thing?  Tim and Maya are on a food run, Cole still asleep, the only sounds is the spin cycle and I’m faced with bills, filming videos or writing.  Be still and listen.  Sit and write… so I obey, belly up to the kitchen counter, hands in position to write and the words do flow.

Q day 11:

Too much of any good thing is not a good thing. Too much TikTok, has left me feeling brain dead.  Too much wine, bloody mary and beer has left me bloated and head-achy.  Too much food at any given moment, has left me even more fluffy and sluggish. I’m still loving the flexibility of schedules and the new way we’ve found to connect, but I do need some sort of schedule.  Rise and read, stretch and move, water and more water.  I’m a schedule lover and a list maker, even though I love the romantic ideal of spontaneous doing, I do appreciate knowing what I need to complete in any day…otherwise the sheer volume of options persuades me to do neither.  So today, I sit and reassess. What needs to be done each day?  Can I make Monday and Thursday laundry days?  Can I prep some meals so I’m not scurrying at 4 every single day?  What do my customer-friends need each day?  What act of movement can I complete each day?  Feeling like I’ve been poolside at Sandals for 10 days, it’s time to find some normal, even a new normal would be better than this free-form vacation mode I’ve been following. 

Also, the incessant scroll of social media has left me uncreative.  Looking at what others are doing doesn’t often inspire uniqueness in me… and this morning’s cyber meeting with my Rotarian allies has reminded me that there is still great need in the world and we have the platform to help.  I have the platform and the blessing to help.  One fellow member sent ice-cream to maternity wards for a sweet treat during these germ filled days. What can I do to make my customer-friends lives a little lighter?  Snacks to First Responders? Chocolates to Therapists?  There we go… now the light is flickering, building.  It took a stepping away from social for just a hot second to make my own creative juices stir.

When I don’t start the day with a solid base and a good refueling, running on fumes is evident to all.  I snip at hubby, I’m short fused with all, I’m more tired and more reactive, less proactive.  Add in the mind-numbing scroll of social media, I’m doomed.  I need... scratch that, I require a reboot. Only when I’m filled to the tippy top into overflow can I aptly help another.  And since my heart craves helping so many, it's even more important to take the time to refuel, to spill over, to gather and receive all the goodness required to complete this day in its best possible way. 

Anything else is just empty and ineffective.

He Rests

Most moments, at Charlie’s older age, he rests.  Finding the coziest spot in the sun as it moves around the house, Charlie will shift, stretch, and adjust wherever the beams fall.  He’s not constantly nipping at my ankles or tearing up some precious thing, in fact, this very moment he has gathered his personal fleece blankie in a proper nest upon my bed, a full level and three rooms away.  Sometimes, the garage door will open and still he rests upon his nest, seemingly oblivious.  Maybe he doesn’t hear us, maybe he trusts us finally. He knows by now that we’ll come find him if he doesn’t offer a door greeting. That’s relationship, I suppose.  The see-saw balance of me coming to him and him coming to me. Me trusting that he’ll find me if he needs anything, whether it’s food or a touch. I know he’s there, I can rise and find him for comfort if needed and he will seek me out for the things he needs. This relationship isn’t a dictatorship where I  dictate the rules and schedules and requirements (although, I admit some days I childishly wear that hat), instead, it’s a friendship.  I care for his needs because I care for him.  I want to take care of him because I love him. (yes, Tim, I do love Charlie). I don’t want to overlook him for the entire day not only because I know there’ll be a big cleanup but also because I care for his presence. I want him to feel loved, I want him to be the best dog he was built to become.  Where is God and where am I in this parallel?  I’m not exactly positive if He’s the dog or the human here…maybe both. He both rests and interacts, He loves and receives our love. He comes to me and waits for me to come to Him. All of the above and more. This I know…it’s relationship, not a dictatorship.  He’s not a bossy, finger-pointing, demeaning, condemning, heartless, loof… He rests content, likely in the sun, in a fluffy nest, waiting for us to find Him and gently nudging us if it's been too long. 

Five Years Gone

In the wee hours, while my mind and body were still in deep rest, the anniversary since Mom’s final exhale came and passed.  Shouldn’t I feel more sad, more lost, more something? Tasks, duty, distraction have occupied my mind and heart these past five years, the natural going-on of life has happened. But today, I set aside time to remember, to press pause and reflect. She was good, really really good. She was kind, really really kind.  Times when I wanted to drive the 2 hours south to deliver a well deserved throat punch to anyone that disrespected or dishonored her goodness and kindness she responded instead with such grace. You were good and kind and grace-filled to the brim. It matched the purpose you served here on Earth.  But now you are soaking in the never ending streams of Heavenly goodness, worshiping or basking, dancing or laughing, whatever you find yourself doing, I know it’s within pure joy. I can’t be sad for that. Five years later, I still find myself overjoyed that you lived, that you taught, that you loved and finally returned Home.  Thank you for your life, your teaching and your love.  I will do my best to honor you with my own good life, teaching and love.  Dance, Mom.  Laugh, Mom. Worship, Mom. xo

Back to Breath

My body isn’t used to this. The yoga instructor makes it look so easy, bones and muscles untrained and underused attempt new angles often needing a little or a lot of help. I’m holding my breath. As if on cue, she reminds me to breathe. Deep inhale in, slow exhale out. Yoga reminds me to breathe. Amongst all the busy and strange new things, settle in and breathe. I forget again and again. I push legs and actions into new places, busy brain scurrying, while forgetting the most important thing…just breathe. So much distraction, cars flurry by heading to work, school, wherever. Unfocused thought. Gal next to me is nailing this flow while I’m looking like a clumsy toddler, unbalanced and unsure. Comparison.  Upcoming to-dos, what am I making for dinner, did I shut the garage door? Distraction. What am I doing, I’m out of shape, arms too short, booty unbalanced.  Self Doubt. Bring it back to breath.  Let all the distracting chatter spill away….I feel my feet, secure, cushioned by my soft ivory mat. Toes released from their grip, wiggling free. Big toe and pinky bones finding their base, settling in. Just this. All is good, breathe in. I am good.  Breathe out.  He built me for good.  Breathe in.  Goodness follows me all my days.  Breathe out. He is good.  Breathe in. Getting better every day. Breathe out. I’ve got this.  A giant dump truck bounds by the window…what’s He carrying? Squirelly thought… back to breath.

Refill the Tank

True confession:  I’m a gas light gambler. The light stares incessantly, but surely there's one more trip in the tank. Bypassing opportunity to be refilled, I press forward. The needle wavers, slips into the thick bottom line nearing the big E, but still I pursue one more thing, one more day, one more task.

Needing rescue, hubby or friends arrive, red tank in hand with life giving nectar, just enough to lead me back for a complete refill. Filled once more, fresh vows never to do it again, and yet...

there’s the light once again, sending it's alarm, encouraging me to stop and be filled.

I’m in control, I dictate my day.  

Ignoring the alarm, I press forward, working harder, going faster until the final drips are spent and I’m at the gritty bottom.  On the thick tank bottom sits the sediment, the waste, the useless and harmful by-products. The dregs were never meant for intricate parts, they drift in and render everything ineffective requiring a bigger rescue than a roadside fill-up.

The better alternative is to pay attention to the alarm, obey its suggestion and  refill the tank.

The First To-Do

Stumbling upon loads of undesirable images and mindsets in the Big Book of Truth lately… flailing arms, tossed about on the waves, simple minds, little faith.  All aptly describing me…not in my youth or many years behind but a mere 5 minutes prior I was easily all four. 

Fresh from an overnight away, a few days to rest and rejuvenate, preparing for the busiest of seasons, I should be fully restored, ready to attack tasks with a full tank.  But no.  The tank immediately emptied considering the to-dos. Where to start? What’s most important?  Am I focusing on needless details?  Should I even carry this line? How does that work into existing stock? Will son manage picking up the pre-ordered dinner? Tightening began small, like the rag I twist on cleaning days, lodged right between collarbone and breast. Squeezing and twisting, the tightening now affecting inhales. Breathe. What to do first?  Walk with me, that still small voice whispers.  I don’t have time right now, I should have walked fresh out of bed.  I’ll walk tomorrow.  Walk with me, it insists. This is the last thing I have time for right now, but I lace my sneaks and trudge out the door, tightness still heavy over my heart. 

One step, then another, heaviness slipping in drips. Breathe, the voice speaks again. Breathe again.  That’s better. My weekly verse now returns as the long list of distractions fade:  those who receive the rain that often falls and produce a crop for those it benefits will receive the blessing of God. Long breath in:  Receive the Rain.  Slower breath out:  Produce a crop.  Receive the Rain, Produce the Crop. Receive, Produce, Receive, Produce.  There, there.  Breathing returns to normal, mind clear once again, the inclination is to sprint home applying my new-found calm to the long to-do.  But no… more steps, more breaths.  Receive, Produce, an ever present cycle that requires a constant return to Receiving. However, my default key seems stuck in Produce.  Work, to-do, check-off, new list, more checking off, bigger notebook, more lists. Figure it out, work harder, dig deeper when the very first thing needs to be Receive. Top of the list, the first to-do: Receive. 

A Brand New Day

I may or may not have eaten not one but two Brown’s chocolate chip sugar cakes this weekend. And a beer, chased with a few or more Ritz Sourcream Toasted Chips.  Not all at once, obviously. But today is a brand new day. Super yummy on the tongue, neither left me feeling super fabulous… Emotionally.  Physically.  Clearly, my body and mind craves something more. Something rich with cell-pleasing nutrients, something that satisfies on more than one level.

I fell into easy, fast, surface level satisfaction more than once this weekend.  See, Tim was out of town…moving Maya into her college dorm in far, far Florida. Maybe I was feeling guilty for not being there, for not offering in-person goodbye hugs.  Maybe I succumbed to not feeling more guilty… Maya is super self-sufficient and this is year two, right? Were my mom instincts off? Should I have been there instead of here, eating delicious Brown’s chocolate chip sugar cakes dipped in decaf iced coffee? Gluttonous. Oddly unsatisfying. Likely because I was trying to fill a heart shaped void with a round shaped cookie. The curves just didn’t fill the pointy edges.

So, here I sit, Monday morning, Maya settled into her first new dorm evening, Tim half way home and headed to work.  Me sweaty from my new walking-water-writing routine and just realizing what I had done. Half the healing comes in the knowing. So, I sip and I sweat and I type. Filling myself with something a bit more satisfying, Realization, Awareness, Grace. Today is a brand new day.