Once upon a time, you could eat off my floors. Ceiling fans to baseboards, pantries and potties. All were kept immaculately clean and tidy. Even when I started working at the school, I had enough time and energy to keep up with things.
Between working a full-time 9-5 and reaching my 50s, I don’t keep up so well. We discussed the possibility of hiring some help for me. At least someone to do the ceiling fans and floors. I’m not sure how our puppy dog would feel about someone being in the house with us not here. So, that is on the back burner for now.
One thing I have noticed. The messes don’t bother me as much as they did when I was younger. I don’t think my standards have lowered. Rather, I have begun to have more compassion for myself. Historically, by this time, I would be having a nervous fit over the condition of some areas of the house. Don’t get me wrong, the house is not filthy. Things are not piled up everywhere. Still, things are not as pristine as I would like them to be.
A couple of my phrases from my life book are: über tidy and operating room clean. Some of my other catch phrases include words like immaculate and other such “perfection” words, it is easy to understand how I fall ridiculously short of my goals.
Yes, it is my intention to “put wash away warm”. My poor beloved knows how to dig socks from the hamper of clean clothes. I console myself by noting that the clothes are clean. I have heard of those having to dig in the dirty clothes for something to wear. Never at my house in all my years of housekeeping have any of them had to do that. Please forgive my boast. I need something today to reduce the level of guilt over my neglected floors and rugs.
So, my house is not looking the way I would prefer. My schedule is looking great. I have several events upcoming. Nearly every Saturday has some special something to occupy my time and energy. I will have a large quantity of memories scheduled for accumulating over the next several months. Memories with my church family, my nieces, cousins, aunts, daughter. Memories with him and our son and his bride and the Jewel of California arriving soon.
That accumulation more than offsets any anguish I might feel over the accumulation of dust bunnies in the corners. Über festive, immaculately pleasant, are those good phrases? Maybe I will adopt those to replace the more difficult ones.
Perfection is being in the presence of my family and friends, him, Him, and especially that Jewel on the way.
Yes, I know it is Thursday. I did not really forget to do Raining Orchids yesterday. I just forgot when it got time to do it. Sometime this morning or maybe late last night when I was almost asleep, I remembered I had not posted. Coming back to reality after the past couple of weeks is taking its toll on me!
I was a little concerned I would not have much to get excited about for a little while. I was wrong.
I got my iPod going last month. He bought me a new one for my birthday. I waited until this week to start walking the track again. Between all the scheduled traveling and the deadly heat, it seemed prudent to wait. Even today, the heat is causing me to delay a while. I need the track time. I sleep better when I have made a few laps. Better sleep makes for better days altogether.
We have a special event coming up at church. I am looking forward to the event and also the preparations I will have a part in leading up to it. There is a vacancy at the church he and I are trying to help cover. I have not worked with youth in years. A couple of girls come fairly regularly and are delightful to engage in conversation. He is trying to cover Sunday School and I am trying to do something Wednesday evening until a regular youth minister can be hired.
A new issue of Bella Grace should be on the rack at the bookstore. I need to pick up some supplies for the activities at church in the big town an hour south of us tomorrow. I have a few items still needing to be packed up and shipped west. The gathering of the girls that was delayed last month due to illness has been rescheduled.
We have weathered heartbreaking losses over the years. We are managing something that is devastating to think about. My mother’s sister has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s for a few years now. I take her sister to visit her and we have a small party with “the girls” so as not to overwhelm her. We dress up and act silly for a few hours every month when possible. When I say dress up: we are dressing up as clowns for our ritual group photo this time. I hope the littlest one isn’t afraid of clowns.
My life is ridiculously simple to most folks. My life is incredibly rich to me. Small delights and great blessings abound. Orchids are pouring down upon me. It doesn’t seem right to not be happy. Not with all I have undeservedly been given.
I always thought somehow we would all finally get well and gather together and live happily ever after. It took me so long to figure out that life is not a destination. I don’t know when I started grasping that idea. I don’t know if I fully grasp that idea. Part of me is still waiting for everyone to come home.
Life is what it is. Someone very dear to me recently told me something his father has been telling me for so many years. We were sitting out on the deck looking out over the mountains behind his house. Talking about this and that. He said: