Letting go

 

All my life, I’ve been in a hurry, always rushing to get more done, feeling pressured by deadlines, even though they were of my own making. I remember once hurrying back to my office at five o’clock after an event had taken me away for a couple of hours. The dean of students pointed out that I was going the wrong direction and it was time to leave work, not arrive, but I replied, “If I could just get a few more things done ….”

I don’t know where this pressure came from. My memory is that my mom took life as it came. Dad, however, was a workaholic, and I can still see him sitting at the dining table, late at night, with papers spread before him, a cigarette between his fingers until he quit at the age of fifty. (I remember thinking then that fifty was soooo old—now I have kids who are older than Dad was at the time. How did this happen?)

Even retirement didn’t slow me down. I just exchanged one job for another and went from directing the TCU Press to writing full-time. For several years, I pushed myself to write three mysteries a year. Now I wonder why.

It took pandemic to slow me down. Part of it was, like all of us, I stopped going out to lunch and dinner. After a few months, Christian was amazed. “You’ve been so social! How can you just stay in the cottage day after day?” I assured him I was content. My family ate supper with me, and we had a small group of trusted friends, also quarantining, who came to visit on the patio, even in cold weather—we didn’t want to be in a small, closed room, breathing on each other. But I really was content as the whole pace of life slowed.

In the tumultuous years since the pandemic, I’ve wondered how I ever had time to write books. Many days I don’t finish my opening-the-day routine until noon or later—I read emails (I get a lot of them) and I read selected news sources online—the local newspaper, a site called atAdvocacy that I really like, Daily Kos (yes, I know, it’s a liberal rag but there’s some good stuff there), Wake Up to Politics, Texas Monthly’s daily highlights, etc. And of course food columns. Mostly I think if I don’t write by noon, I won’t get it done, because afternoon is nap time. In the last year, I’ve started staying up until almost midnight—my whole schedule has changed.

I kept thinking if the national political scene ever quieted down, I wouldn’t “waste” so much time online, But something I read recently changed my view of it: retirement and slowing down gave me “permission” to be curious, to dig down any rabbit hole that interests me, including all those political opinion pieces. For instance, for yesterday’s blog, I went exploring to find out about fake scallops and to learn about the comparison of sardines to tuna. If an article totally unrelated to anything I’m working on catches my fancy, I feel free to follow it. So now I can tell you a new trend, popularized on TikTok (no, I don’t follow that) is pairing wine and potato chips. Chardonnay alls for Kettle Salt and Vinegar. Or I can tell you about forest pre-school programs, where youngsters three to five spend 70% of their time outdoors, learning about nature, both animals and plants. My curiosity has full play.

There’s another aspect to this relaxation. If I don’t write it today, there’s always tomorrow. I never ever felt that way before—I’d set a goal of 1500 words for the day and kill myself to make it. Yesterday I had a scene in my work-in-progress in mind all day, but I just didn’t get to it. Come nine o’clock, and I’m ready to read someone else’s mystery. Then I thought, “I’ll just jot down some thoughts.” In the next hour I wrote 1200 words. If I’d forced myself to write at that hour, I’d have slogged through some uninspired passages. But because I let it happen spontaneously, I got in some good writing.

Perhaps the first sign of this new (to me) relaxation I noticed was that I stopped and stared out the window more frequently and for longer periods. At the right time of day, I can glimpse the children going to school across the street. I have a cool glass teakettle with neon blue lights indicating it’s heating. These days, I sit and watch it, stare at that blue light, watch the bubbles come up, wait for that magic moment when suddenly silently it goes dark when it reaches boiling. Never fails to fascinate me. The old me would have rushed back to the computer to make use of that two or three minutes.

None of us will ever in any way be grateful for the pandemic, but I do think this is one small benefit. And, yes, I am most content.

Learning to meditate

 Meditation is supposed to help you relax, and Lord knows I need that. I’ve had a bad couple of days, and my physical therapist told me every muscle in my body was tense. So I decided meditation was one of the keys.

The other day I was in the living room with Jordan having a happy hour glass of wine. She left, and I just sat there, thinking this would be a good time to meditate. But instead of the deep spiritual revelation I wanted, my mind wandered to what to cook for this weekend, what computer chores I needed to do, what could I do about the downsizing mess in my house. We’re told in prayer not so much to talk to the Lord, especially asking things of him, but to be silent and let him talk to us. Well, he seems to talk to me about food and grandchildren and the nitty gritty of everyday life. Clearly, my mind is on the mundane when I am searching for revelation.

Years ago a psychologist taught me to consciously relax every muscle in my body, thinking clearly about the muscles in my scalp all the way down to my toes. Then, with eyes closed, I could meditate. I remember the relaxation part really helped, but I don’t remember much about the meditation except that one day it came to me, clear as a bell, that I shouldn’t take the solo trip to Singapore that friends had proposed. I do take that kind of revelation seriously…and it has saved me from some uncomfortable situations. Recently I couldn’t wrap my head around a teaching opportunity, and it occurred to me it was because I shouldn’t do it. I declined.

But somehow I want something deeper, and maybe I’m looking for too much. I want great insight into the nature of the world and my place in it. I want more insight into my faith and the nature of spirituality. And it doesn’t happen.

Do you really suppose God meant me to cook and focus on everyday chores? I’d like to think there’s something more.

 

Contemplating cattle and country life

Here it is mid-July, and Texas pastures are still lush and green—unheard of for many years. I’ve spent the last two evenings sitting on a comfortable, breeze-blessed porch, wine in hand, and contemplating a herd of cattle—beautiful, fat Red Angus with heifers and steers still among them and one happy bull. Periodically they wander up to the water tank by the fence and fix us with long stares. Their occasional bellows are contented sounds. (I probably have made several errors in that description which belie me as the city girl I am.) But there is something so relaxing about the late afternoon experience. Birds nest at the top of the porch posts, with most babies trying their wings but a few stuck in the nest, not yet brave enough to venture out and complaining to the world about it.

I’ve been visiting my brother John and sister-in-law Cindy at their ranch outside Tolar, Texas. A lazy wonderful escape from my daily routine. I’ve slept late and napped long—it’s the country air my brother insists. I’ve eaten marvelously and too much—steak and twice-baked potatoes, homemade spaghetti. Not only does the spaghetti taste wonderful, but I am so impressed by someone whips up a batch in the afternoon for supper. Like much of their cooking, making spaghetti is a two-person affair in this household. I've also enjoyed long visits with both of them. Cindy and I talked about cooking and food, and John and I recalled our very different childhood experiences, explored a newly found scrapbook that had many people we knew as youngsters--yes, we did a bit of living in the past, one of us recalling what the other couldn't.

Two German shepherds wander in and out at will, as do two or three cats (they hide and I’m never sure how many there are). There’s a noisy parrot, presumed to be male for years but who recently laid two eggs. Outside, chickens and guinea hens wander the property. The guineas are a hoot, scolding one cat in clear terms when it dared into the yard. It’s a city girl’s country delight, with computer and reading time.

It is also, for two relatively quiet people, the noisiest household I can imagine. The washing machine runs much of the time; the dishwasher probably twice a day. The “magic oven,” a commercial one that cooks a succulent chicken in 25 minutes and a turkey in an hour and a half, makes a screeching noise every time it needs adjustment and otherwise contents itself with a loud exhaust. Today John vacuumed his office with an automatic vacuum that is not quiet. So many gadgets, so much noise. And yet when I wanted to nap, I closed my door and didn’t hear a thing.

I’m reluctantly glad to be home, with Sophie, back in my routine—hitting the door running but maybe these two days will carry me through in serenity for a while. We stopped for lunch at Café 1187—wonderful atmosphere and food.

Tonight, Betty and I went a day late for our weekly Wednesday dinner. As we frequently do, we chose the Tavern—split the deviled eggs appetizer and the vegetable plate with carrots, red cabbage, wild rice salad, and spinach. Even splitting it was too generous and she boxed some to take home. We got in the car—and the battery was dead. Calls to the insurance emergency service and her husband resulted—while waiting, we went back inside and had another glass of wine. Eventually the car started but it was shaky—no a/c, and the windows would not roll down or up. Always an adventure.
I’ll sleep well tonight.

Texas' best seasons

Spring and fall are undeniably the best seasons to be in Texas. In spring, we have the riotous color of wildflowers and trees putting forth those first pale green leaves and shoots, but in fall we have brilliantly blue, clear skies, gardens that begin to flourish again, and gorgeous fall flowers. I noticed tonight that my miniature crape myrtle has lots of blooms. After a cold snap that made it too chilly to sit outdoors, we are enjoying perfect weather. Tonight, Jordan and I had a glass of wine on the deck and then when Christian arrived we all went to Joe T.'s just because, as Christian said, it was Taco Tuesday. Perfect weather, no mosquitoes, but some pesky flies. We laughed and joked and lingered over dinner.
I think every once in a while it does the soul good to have a "just because" day, and I had one today. Breakfast with my longtime friends of the Book Ladies, lunch with another longtime friend. In between I did bits and odds and ends but spent time browsing Facebook and being lazy. While I helped Jacob with his homework, I had one eye on the book I'm reading, not because I have to for this reason or that but simply because I want to. It's Anne Hillerman's Spider Woman's Daughter, which picks up the characters of her father's famous Leaphorn and Chee books. .
Maybe I'll get back to serious work tomorrow--I have a first draft to edit, always a painful process, a book to read for the class I'm teaching, a blog interview questionnaire to fill out, and various other things on my desk--an insurance claim to file, calls to make welcoming visitors to my church. But today I had a "just because" day. Just because I could. Who know, I may do that again tomorrow.