These are 18 hour days. Long days, with multiple tracks and twists too complex for me to do anything but smile and continue moving forward. There is not energy nor time for untangling confusion that is designed like a net.
For instance, the puzzles that are my ex-husband’s long, historical emails. Those are not worth my mental effort. He is where he Was and where he always will Be.
Or, The Love’s tiptoe’d dance around those he wants to keep happy. That is not a dance for two. He may have the stage, having made that choice, and I will wait in the wings to hold him when he asks. That is something I can do, when the rest is something I can not.
My children have a rollercoaster of emotions; their life is either “completely over” or they are having “the best day ever!” There is not much more to do than smile and listen and make them a hot supper of meaty Bolognese over wide pasta and topped with cheese.
The work list does not end, the household is a cycle. There’s a rhythm here, a measured sense of rightness even though I’m tired. Every time I pay a bill or cross off a task or catch the light coming between the giant leaves of the sycamore tree that shades my car I’m aware that I’m living What Is.
I’m content and grateful for these days. I am earning, I am providing, I still have enough juice in my tank for creative thought. My little home has an order and sunshine that streams through the windows. This week we had our first dinner guest; a story teller who stood up tall and animatedly acted out ancient tales from Africa. Her heart is broken yet she came and was part of us for a bit.
This quilt that seems to be our days is pretty. The stitches are small. It’s funny how in September you can start to see how the year will unfold. Very little mystery left and calm resignation breezes in. Florida tosses September, alternating summer’s end heat with grey, hurricane winds. Migratory geese fly over and sort of look down at us as if we’re crazy; this is not a place where they can stay.
The hour I took for myself this morning is over. The kids have all gone to school and my coffee is cool. I’m going to spend this day doing just what I did every day this week: the job that is before me, the job that is mine to do. They are not all comfortable, they are not all prescribed. But somehow they are right and I know this is in my bones.