I got a copy today of an article, "On Learning to Putter," that I wrote for Texas Co-op Power (that goes to a cool million people, thank you). It's about the fact that I've been compulsive all my life, always busy, always something to do, and now, in late middle age, I want to learn to putter. (Actually I used the yiddish word "putz" when I originally wrote the article, but the editors were afraid, and rightly so, of the sexual and derogatory connotations.) I want to go to the zoo with my grandchildren and not worry about what's for dinner; I want to sit on the porch and not rush to my desk. When I re-read the article, written some months ago now, I realized that I've made progress. This weekend, when the Frisco Alters were here and we went to the Cowgirl Hall of Fame, I had not a clue what was for dinner and didn't worry about it. At five o'clock, we toyed with going out, but it was Sunday, and too many places were closed. We ended up at Central Market--always a lifesaver--where we cobbled together a Mediterranean meal. Jamie said, "This was a terrific idea, Mom." And not much work.
Monday morning, they were going to get up and go home--which they did, but it wasn't accomplished until 11:30. I sat and watched the adults roughhouse with the children, we nibbled on breakfast, sat on the porch and talked--there wasn't anything urgent that needed to be done. When they left they were only going about three blocks to a Mexican restaurant--in spite of Maddie's plea (which pleased me immensely), I chose not to go--no make-up, no shower, and a feeling of complete contentment. I spent the rest of the day puttering, with a good nap thrown in.
Tonight there was a lovely breeze on the porch, so I put aside the mystery and sat outside to read someone else's mystery--always telling myself that I'm learning techniques.
I may master the art of puttering--or putzing.