My daughter came to visit, as always with her little dog (now almost eight years old). Today’s weather was quite warm for February, though dark and windy. With thoughts of sunny spring days, we brought an old bicycle up from the basement for her to ride and attached a pet carrier to it.
We haven’t actually gotten out to ride bikes yet, as today was a workday and we all had other things to do; but the dog seemed to enjoy looking it over anyway.
Last week’s snow has not all melted yet, but it’s getting there. Yesterday was sunny and warm enough to open some of the windows, at least for a few hours, and this morning I heard the birds chirping cheerfully in the front yard like it was already springtime.
I can definitely feel a change in the air, and it’s giving me hope that happier days are not far away.
Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to “give this planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.” Visit her site to find more Nurturing Thursday posts and a list of frequent contributors.
Clear sky all through Sunday and light reflecting from snow filled my home with brightness. The higher angle of the sun showed that springtime wasn’t far away, and I felt mostly recovered from the cold I’d caught last week. Still, I felt lethargic and couldn’t stir off the couch to do my rowing machine workout as early in the day as I’d planned on doing.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear a little voice whimpering, “It’s all too hard. So exhausting and painful. It’s always too much to push through, and it never, ever stops.”
The voice belonged to the unhappy younger self I called Queenie, who had been resettled—with reasonable success, I thought—in the imaginary 1890s village of Channelwood. She had told me she was happy there, with young friends to keep her company. The village, located on a far-away island, was a quiet and peaceful place where my younger selves and their companions were free to take care of themselves without interference from the outside world. They didn’t have to contend with other people’s expectations or do anything beyond ordinary farm work…
Hmmm. Maybe I hadn’t given that quite enough thought.
I pictured myself appearing in Channelwood’s kitchen outbuilding around midafternoon. The three older girls, in long dresses and aprons, were all hard at work preparing dinner. Sara was chopping carrots, Ella was rolling a pie crust, and Queenie was sitting on the back steps plucking a chicken. The back door opened onto a view of bare trees, gently sloping hills, and a shallow creek.
“Okay, team meeting.” I gestured toward the kitchen table, on which had appeared a teapot and four cups, along with the tin of assorted butter cookies that I had promised Queenie over a year ago (and forgotten about until now). “Wash your hands and come get your tea.”
The girls looked at me curiously, as if they didn’t quite understand what I had in mind. Sara poured hot water from a pail on the hearth into a basin that already held cool water; there was no indoor plumbing here. When she’d gotten the temperature right, the girls washed with an apple-scented bar of homemade soap and gathered around the table.
“I’m not sure I went about this entirely right when I brought you here.” Taking the lid off the cookies, I put the tin back down for the girls to help themselves, which they promptly did while I poured the tea for everyone.
“That is to say,” I went on, “although you’re all safe here and there’s nobody around to bully you or make unfair demands, you still don’t have much time to rest and relax because you always have so many chores.”
Ella took a sip of her tea and shrugged. “Having chores—well, that’s life, isn’t it?”
“Unless we were princesses.” Sara, with a dreamy look, chose a square butter cookie from the assortment and set it down neatly on the edge of her saucer. “And then servants would be doing the chores, and we’d always be kind to them, making sure that they were healthy and well fed because that’s what good princesses do.”
Queenie, picking up a round cookie with swirls of chocolate, didn’t quite snort derisively in response to that, but she looked as if she would have if she hadn’t thought better of it. “Ugh, who’d want to be a princess. They have to learn court etiquette and attend fancy formal events, and nasty people would gossip about the least little mistake. No thanks.”
Frowning slightly, Ella took a breath and then, letting it back out without a word, let the silence lengthen while she poured another cup of tea.
“All right, this is how I see it.” I set down my teacup and looked from one girl to another. “We don’t have any servants, whether or not we might want to, and being self-reliant is a lot of work. This island is not totally cut off from the outside world because a ship comes by every few months with supplies, but even so, you’re obliged to do much more for yourselves than most people—either in the 1890s or a century later. I didn’t give this situation nearly enough thought when I first imagined what this village would be like.”
Then I turned to face Queenie, who was nibbling her cookie and still looked sulky. “And in particular, there is no requirement to do almost everything for yourself, pushing on until you’re exhausted every day, to avoid becoming a victim of gossip or other nastiness if you make a mistake. Those aren’t the only two choices. In fact, the world is full of infinite possibilities. Believe it or not, there are plenty of scenarios in which life is easy and other people are happy to help you. I’ve been remiss in not bringing that to your attention before now. As your future self—or your fairy godmother, if you prefer—I’m about to correct my error.”
I wasn’t costumed as a fairy godmother with a sparkly magic wand, but it didn’t take me long to decide that one could simply appear in my hand. Visualizing a large and ridiculously gaudy silver wand covered with gemstones, I waved it a few times and announced, “There, that’s much better, isn’t it?”
The basin in which the girls had washed their hands was gone, replaced by a capacious kitchen sink. A wood-burning stove had taken the place of the hearth, and a half-open door on the other side of the room revealed a bathroom suitably equipped with plumbing. Everything was in an old-fashioned style that was my best guess as to what might have been available in the 1890s, although I hadn’t actually researched the subject because I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of my thoughts by doing so.
“Channelwood’s new water tower is over that way, behind the trees.” After pointing in the general direction of the window above the kitchen sink, I set my imaginary wand down on the table and helped myself to a cookie.
“This ought to be nicer,” said Ella, her tone a bit doubtful, “but now we’re going to have to learn how to do our cooking with that stove.”
“No worries, it shouldn’t take long.” I smiled at her and then turned to Queenie. “And if there’s a day when you mess up and burn something, it’s no big deal. Nobody here will say nasty things if you make a mistake. It’s just practice, that’s all, and practice is information. We learn from it and go forward accordingly.”
After I left the girls to enjoy their new comforts in Channelwood and went to do my workout (which didn’t go well because of bad pacing), it got late in the day, and I never did finish writing this post. I decided to let it settle for a few days while I considered how to incorporate the advice I’d given into my own life.
On Wednesday after work I repeated the rowing machine workout that I’d flubbed on Sunday, and this time it went much better. Pushing away those “it’s too hard” thoughts, I told myself that I was staying nice and steady, at a good sustainable pace. I was, in fact, able to stay much more consistent all through the workout, and now I’m feeling optimistic about my upcoming online race.
Evidently, I spoke too soon when I mentioned, in last Thursday’s post, that there hadn’t been much snow in this area. Today a giant storm blew in and dumped plenty of the white stuff, and it’s still falling. So much for any plans of going out to do anything on Friday, and I’ve caught a cold anyway.
When I’m having a blah day, I generally stay away from this blog because nobody—and that includes my future selves—would want to read pointless complaints. But as I haven’t yet written a Nurturing Thursday post and it is late enough that the day isn’t likely to turn un-blah, I’ll just post a gentle reminder to myself that happier days always show up sometime, although not necessarily as planned.
Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to “give this planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.” Visit her site to find more Nurturing Thursday posts and a list of frequent contributors.
I had a somewhat garbled dream in which I was going on adventures, but I had to do it on a schedule, for reasons I couldn’t remember when I woke up. That brought back a memory of how, as a child, I had thought adults’ carefully planned schedules were beyond ridiculous.
At first, the dream didn’t seem like it meant anything in particular. When it came to mind again, though, I decided to take a few minutes to visit my imaginary younger selves in Channelwood village. I was curious about what they thought of adventures and schedules. The two youngest children, seven-year-old Ponch and five-year-old Peter, were playing on a rocky hillside near the beach.
Although it was winter in Channelwood as in real life, the island’s milder climate made it feel more like spring. Ponch had on the woven poncho that inspired the nickname, and her companion wore a favorite green jacket that suited the Peter Pan persona. A large basket, tilted at a rather precarious angle, rested on the ground beside the children.
“What adventures do you have on your schedule for today?” I made my way down the hillside toward them, half expecting to be told I was asking a silly grown-up question.
“We’re taking care of a baby dragon.” Ponch spoke in a cheerful tone that suggested she found no fault with my choice of words. “Want to see?”
Before I had time to answer yes or no, she already had lifted the basket’s lid just a little, giving me a peek at its inhabitant. Looking back at me was, curled in a corner, what appeared to be a small and very ordinary-looking lizard. The floor of the basket was lined with sand, twigs, and rocks.
(Creative Commons image via flickr)
A shallow bowl, evidently intended as drinking water, had mostly spilled into the corner opposite the lizard because of the basket’s careless placement on the slope. Ponch quickly shut the lid again, before the lizard could get any ideas of escaping—although it didn’t look motivated to do anything but go back to sleep.
“How do you tell the difference between a baby dragon and an ordinary lizard?” While I certainly wasn’t trying to put a damper on the children’s pretending, I did wonder what explanation they might give for the creature’s lack of wings.
“All baby dragons start out as ordinary lizards,” Peter announced, in an earnest, professorial tone. “To change into dragons, first they have to be sprinkled with fairy dust at sunrise. After that, they have to be kept in a basket all day, so that they don’t fly away before their wings are grown. Also, they need to drink a magic potion. Then, after sunset, the basket has to be opened just as the moon is rising. When the moonlight first touches the dragon, the wings grow to their full length, and the dragon flies off to learn the ways of dragons in a far-away land.”
“And then,” Ponch put in, filling out the day’s schedule with more practical details, “Sara will call us for dinner. Because it is still winter, sunset comes early. We’re having fish for dinner; Queenie caught them this morning. Ella makes the best baked fish, yum.”
“Sounds good,” I agreed. “I’d say your adventures have a well-planned schedule. Better than my grown-up chores.”
Ponch gave me a smile in return. Peter’s dismissive shrug, meanwhile, made plain the very idea of being grown up didn’t merit a moment’s thought.
So far this winter, there has been very little snow—just a light dusting every now and again. The snowblower hasn’t gotten any use at all. Of course, we still have plenty of winter left to go, and peaceful cozy nights by the fireplace. Either way, snow or not, it’s all good.
Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to “give this planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.” Visit her site to find more Nurturing Thursday posts and a list of frequent contributors.
I have to confess I didn’t feel motivated to write blog posts this week. Instead, I spent much of the long weekend just enjoying a cozy house and hot tea, letting the cold winter days quietly pass. I’m sure something creative will bubble up after a while, but for the moment I feel content just to rest and relax. Sometimes that’s more helpful than rushing around to get things done.
Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to “give this planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.” Visit her site to find more Nurturing Thursday posts and a list of frequent contributors.
This week I started a new five-week training program to get in shape for rowing. So far it seems like it’s going well. I was a bit apprehensive about it because last year I trained harder than I’d done before, and there were many days when I felt tired and stressed, rushing to do everything on the schedule.
I expect it’ll be easier now that I have better baseline fitness and know what to expect. Just as important, this season I plan to get more rest and manage my time more sensibly. No reason to let it scare me!
Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to “give this planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.” Visit her site to find more Nurturing Thursday posts and a list of frequent contributors.
This was a cold and blustery day in my part of the world. I was grateful when my husband volunteered to bring in the mail and I didn’t have to step outside. Right now, I’m feeling warm and cozy in green flannel pajamas with a Christmas pattern of trees and stockings. Every season has its comforts to enjoy!
Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to “give this planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.” Visit her site to find more Nurturing Thursday posts and a list of frequent contributors.
Sometimes, as a meditation, I imagine myself turning to the four directions and asking each of them what it has to say to me. I always start in the East, as the direction of the dawn and new beginnings, and go clockwise from there.
When I last pictured myself facing the dawn, I was walking through a bright green meadow full of wildflowers on a clear spring day. Then I noticed that, for some reason, I had butterfly wings attached to my shoulders, like a child in a costume.
Unlike a costume, however, the wings were functional. I was holding some sort of futuristic control device that made the wings fly me high above the meadow.
“The future holds so many fun adventures to discover,” the East whispered on a joyful breeze.
Thanking the East, I turned toward the South, the direction of summer’s heat.
I was barefoot now, and the earth under my feet was pleasantly warm. Closing my eyes, I wanted to stand for a little while and enjoy the feeling.
“It’s okay to just relax sometimes,” the South told me in a comfortable, reassuring tone. “The future will find you anyway; there’s no need to be searching for it at all times.”
Although I was tempted to stay longer, I still had two more directions to visit. I opened my eyes and moved on to the West, the direction of cool winds of change.
I stood watching autumn leaves as they fell, but other than the leaves, nothing much seemed to be happening around me. I wondered what, if anything, I was supposed to be doing.
“Hold space for it,” the West kindly advised.
With my thanks, I turned away to face the North, the direction of winter’s cold and renewal. Rain was falling, and I heard a stream rushing somewhere nearby, quick with snowmelt. Then, suddenly, all was silent.
“You don’t need to listen for it, either,” the North murmured. “It will find you.”
