Today I’m going to just focus on the silvery grey light that’s surrounding me, and the ones that I love.
But, still. I know there are things that I should be doing, that we should be doing. Summer is cooling her heels a bit now, not in temperature but in spirit. Three months of scattered schedules, chlorine, sand, monuments and museums have left us panting, ready for a firm schedule again.
I’m craving a day tucked in bed, my naked body wrapped up in my white down comforter. And as I drift off to sleep, I’d like to watch images of Mary and Guan Yin and Devi float behind my hot eyelids. Maybe I’ll be reminded of how much we’re all loved.
What’s more likely is that I’ll convince Xander to walk with me through the neighborhood (even though it’s 97 degrees and threatening to thunderstorm). Maybe we’ll look for pinecones to cover with gloopy sticky peanut butter and sprinkle with the last of the birdseed. Maybe we’ll see the hawk that lives down the road or one of the monkeys that live round the corner from the hawk (Yes, really. These are my neighbors).
Hmmm. Now I feel better. I began today full of spiky and barbed balls of anxiety swirling around in my chest. My horoscope even said so, that my morning would pretty much stink but my afternoon would brighten up like whites washed in Borax. No, not really. It didn’t say exactly that.
I hope that one day I can remember that in being fully present in being a mother didn’t hurt my writing at all. That it gave it a sort of manic, scattered genius. And vice versa, you know?
I had a dream last night that my bed was full of brown chicken feathers (in the real life of daytime Xander had been pulling brown feathers out of my pillow). In the dream all three of us were kind of going about our normal business with the feathers flying and falling and floating all around. I didn’t even bother to pick them up, I just kind of let them do their feather thing.
Last night we signed a lease to a house close to Xander’s school. This means he’ll have quite a nice yard to play in and will be within walking/biking distance to both his elementary and eventually middle school. It also means that we can once again have a pet, which we haven’t been able to have since we moved to Alaska in late 2008. It has hardwood floors and big picture windows, hostas and dogwoods. It’s kismet, really.