Tuesday dinner-time

Light day, which, as I get older, is very healing. Am making more of a habit of pacing myself, not expecting so much out of a day.  It's hard to put into practice, though, as used to as I am of juggling lots of kids and all they get into.  Now, with only four at home, it's much, much easier.  Not so much food to buy either.  'Course the boys always bought their own treats, but dinners---still adjusting to less leftovers to put away.  Hard to make smaller meals and portions.

Everyone's quiet now.  Youngest son went with my husband to his shop today, and they got home early.  My husband has some sort of rough cough and congestion.  He sounds awful.  Very raw.  The kids have passed around a sniffle, but it's either morphed into something different, or he caught a new virus.  He's home early and in bed.  Light out, fan on, peaceful for him.  He just needs some rest.

The kids are in their rooms and the dogs are napping in the living room, though Daisy the Pug is at my feet waiting for me to pick her up.  

Restful, what can I say?  

Chicken simmering, vegetables ready, and about to put on a pot of water for Chicken Noodle Soup.  Figured it'd fit the bill for my main squeeze.  

Overall, thankful for a very full shop of work for my husband (partly, he's just exhausted, I'm thinking), oldest daughter's dry eye situation healing, and nothing pressing hitting at us this week.  Hard to get into a restful mode when you're used to jumping at everything.  

All is well.

Winding up the week

Had the van for the day (all to myself) and went to the used bookstore at the main library.  Found a few treasures, the best one being a 1950s Fanny Farmer Cookbook for $3.  Hardback, looked unused and thrown in for free---that wonderful used-book smell.  I collect Fanny Farmers, and already have about six or seven copies, all different.  Also got a hardback edition of The Shell Seekers for a buck, and also for that price, Geneen Roth's book Women, Food and God.  The only unusual thing I brought back home was a book about immigrants called Bread Givers by Anzia Yezierska---about Jewish immigrants in New York.  Not in my field of interest, but I liked the title, and the Forward and Introduction were so full of praise for the book.  Let's say I'm egotistical to the point of mostly limiting my immigrant-type reading to the folks I'd be related to:  Germans, the English, and American Indians.  The Jewish people have usually been out of my frame of reference.  

Spent a few minutes mesmerized at the music in the bookstore.  Joni Mitchell was playing on their system, and the most haunting song came on.  I asked them what it was, but they didn't know.  I was able to write down enough of the lyrics and found it online.  River.  Never heard of it, but Gary knew the song when I just played it for him (kudos to Spotify again).  At the bookstore, I just stood there.  Made me laugh...a man who was shopping kept glancing over at me, probably wondering why I was just standing there swaying with a look on my face.  Or maybe I entranced him by my awesome beauty.  Yeah, that's it.  Anyway, I just loved the song.  Plus the speakers in the library are so wonderful.  Truth, even a lousy song sounds good with a fancy sound system.

The way I'm looking at life now is this.  I don't give a rip if I look odd out in public.  We've been smacked upside the head with such outrageous behavior in our family, I feel I can behave any way I like.  I'll not embarrass anyone, but I do want to begin enjoying my crazy, mixed up life.

That is all.

(listening to tobyMac's Speak Life)

Thursday evening

~my china garden mixed in with some sedum

In healing mode here.  Focusing on my own life, not my wayward sons.  Hard to do, but necessary to my health and well-being.  Small changes on a daily basis are making a big difference, more than you'd realize.  

I read today that one way to settle your physical self is to place your open hands on your heart, one on top of the other.  Breath regularly, not real deep, but with a rhythm.  Really, it's like a very sweet hug.  Try it and see if you don't feel more quiet during and afterward.  I've done it several times today, with much relief.

And, and, and....this is wonderful...small, tactile occupations---sewing on a button, placing things on a shelf while decorating, choosing which teacup to use out of a collection, wiping down a counter with a spray that carries a pretty scent, dusting tiny things----any task that requires you to hone in on specific items is very soothing.  I spent time this evening after sitting with the chickens, and folded one by one the items on the clothesline.  Set them in the clothes basket, stacked neatly. Small towels, bath towels, underthings, dishrags.  Each one slowly folded and I took time to look at the sky as the sun went down.  I'm not sure how this works, but it does.  Slows your actions down and forces you to be still in your spirit.  I knew this, but have for such a long time sped through my chores.  Now that I'm making a conscious effort in self-care, I'm moving slowly all through the house.  

* * *

And so it goes.

Rest

It pours.  The temperature continues to drop.  The chicken yard sucks shoes off your feet, with the extreme wetness.  Groceries in.  Not much, if any, bread left on the store shelves.  A chocolate sour cream cake to bake. 

I feel easy.  My mind is calm.  When oldest daughter comes home, my chickens who brood here will be safe.  Dinner tonight will be a simple meal.  Tomorrow we'll feast,  just in case we're iced in,  with barbecue, potato salad, and baked beans.  Food that sticks around.

Having nowhere to go, food in the house, and books to read makes my heart feel restful. Reading Woolf's 'To the Lighthouse' now.  Oh my is all I'll say.  Delicious.