The last few weeks have felt like pseudo summer. Living in the half relax. It feels like summer, but it doesn’t. We swim. We play outside. We eat ice cream. And, then we spend equal amounts of time at Doctor’s offices and stores stocking up. Ella needs braces and Rocco needs glasses. I need a second opinion for both. We tired in trying on clothes to see what still fits and what we grew out of. Legs grew longer than the weeds this sticky summer. We made it through shots without any tears, which was a first in my thirteen years of motherhood. We stayed up late and thought, with contempt, about how, in days, we’d be getting up early, again.
This is what I call pseudo summer.
The long days, late mornings and twist cones trick us into thinking it will never end, but school supplies, shots and sports practices tell us otherwise.
Every year I’m racing the clock to get all of the “to dos” that need doing done. I don’t call it procrastination, I call it . . .
tears of grief
i’m fascinated by the research of rose-lynn fisher on the topography of tears. have you seen this?
it’s a study of 100 photographed tears through a standard light microscope. going through a period of change and loss. rose-lynn wondered if tears of grief differed from tears of happiness. and, as you can see the images are nothing short of beautiful, some evoking the look of a map or landscape (thus the name of the project, topography of tears). Take a look at what our tears tell us.
Before the house wakes I gingerly shimmy out of bed, tip-toe into the kitchen, trying to step around the creaks and toy cars, to make my cup of decaf. I sigh, every single day, in remembrance of caffeine and it’s magical ability to take the edge off of morning and myself. I let nostalgia pass as I pour my hazelnut coconut milk creamer and give thanks that the aroma is the same and that I have warm drink to nurse on the balmy back patio. I take a book, a Bible, a journal and a pen. I take my tired self and sit and wake and wait on the day. I take my cares and concerns and put them on paper and send them off in prayer. On the back patio with my decaf, I let things come and I let things go.
Just as I make the same coffee every morning, I find that . . .
I’m not so sure why it’s so easy to cast our attention on what we do not have, rather than what we do have? On the problem and all that is going wrong rather than what is good and right. And I’m not really talking about things here. I’m talking more relationally and maybe a little metaphorically. I suppose I’m talking somewhat about “should haves.” Not an entitled, “I should have this or I should have that.” But a “By this point in life I should have gotten to where I thought I’d be. I should have that relationship mended. I should have someone to share my life with. I should have a father, a mother, a husband, a best friend.”
I think it’s easy to put our attention on what we don’t have because . . .
I wonder what you would think if I told you that gratefulness looks a lot like seeing? Like looking. Like noticing. Like remembering.
I’ve always confused it with a “doing.”
But it’s not a “do.” It’s a “be.”
Have you ever noticed the wording?
I get the two confused often. I make almost everything into a “do.” A work. A chore. A check off my list.