In the Light of Day

I hear the echo of my whiny inside-my-head voice belly aching about the days starting so much earlier and I shake my head.

I love the sun. I need the sun. I crave the sun. Yet I complain when it forces me up and out of my restless slumber before I think I am ready.

Sometimes, when you watch carefully, life shows you what you need to see...

I was puttering about, during my far-too-early morning, and when I went to the coffee cupboard, I found this reflection. 

I had never noticed it before. Not in all my years of living here, have I come across this light show.

I stepped back to find the source of the prism of light I was marvelling over. It was coming from our back door window.

I got this door over three years ago, yet I have never come across the spectrum of light I discovered this morning.

I was at the right place, at the right time, on a cloudless morning, while the sun was at the perfect angle to create this gift of light.

If I had slept in a moment longer, I could have missed the show.

Oh, what small wonders there are to behold in the light of day. I wonder what else I am missing out on ...

Running on Empty

I have a small (10 ml) tube of lip balm that I have been squeezing dry for several months now. I thought the tube was almost empty when I started playing this game of rolling it up from the bottom and squeezing what I could out of the dregs of this tube.

I already have a plan to cut open the tube after the tube runs dry. But this tube just keeps giving and giving. Then giving some more.

Yesterday morning, I was almost certain would be the day. The day prior was almost a "no go". Yet, when I started the ritual of rolling up the tube from the bottom, lip balm started squirting out the opening from an air pocket which had been created. 

This little tube just keeps giving and giving. It has come to symbolize what "running on empty" means to me.

Even when we look depleted, feel depleted, have served our purpose and have squeezed every last bit of life out of whatever we have to give ... there is often just a little bit more within us than we realize.

I see this trait within people who have earned the privilege to simply put their feet up and enjoy life. Yet they keep on going, working, giving and striving some more. 

Running on empty looks different on everyone. I hope I remember to think of this little tube (and the people who have modelled this way of living) every time I feel depleted and empty. 

Don't give up. You have more within you than you are giving yourself credit for ...

Mornings and Me

I love mornings. Morning is the part of my day before the world expects anything of me. I sit in the quiet and do whatever I want to do before the "noise" infiltrates my world.

I squeeze in what I used to love about quiet time, while I had my daycare. I have a raft of word puzzles and Suduko that I used to do while my daycare family napped or watched a movie. I enjoy this routine. I will keep it.

I longingly look back on my daycare days and have such fond memories of quiet time. Presently, I have no way to insert an hour of "quiet" into the midpoint of my work day. I miss quiet time. I miss it a lot.

I have reinstated my daily writing habit since the onset of 2019. Even if I don't have the right words to post aloud, I write whatever comes to my mind in a daily journal. Unfiltered thoughts are allowed to be voiced. As I write aloud without a care in the world about my words being read by anyone but myself, I seem to find my own answers as I let those words go.

I am forever in search of "my answers". Things I already know but have to unearth them from time to time. Writing is my therapy. I have felt much saner since I started setting my words free on a daily basis. I don't always like my voice but I fear that if I censor my thoughts too much, they may all come out in an endless rampage if ever I lose control of my censor button. I believe it is good to release the bad with the good. I'll keep this too.

I love my morning coffee. I don't even think it is the flavor of the coffee that appeals to me. Coffee signifies time I have put aside just for "me". Coffee and visiting. Coffee and friends. Coffee and sitting outside. Coffee with Mom back in the day. It isn't really the coffee. It's what goes along with it. I like to set aside time for two cups of coffee on weekdays. Three cups are reserved for weekends.

I savor the alone time. Time where I don't have to speak. I believe I am exceeding my daily word quota on a regular basis. My alone-time in the morning helps to regenerate the word requirement of the day.

All this said, I cannot believe what I am going to write next. The moment I wake up and see the sun starting to peek in my window is one of the hardest parts of my day. I don't feel ready to face the day ahead of me.

I talk myself out of this notion and remind myself of how much I will enjoy those hours I have set aside. All I have to do is put my feet on the floor and take one step in a forward direction. And I do.

I have nothing left in me at the end of my days. I come home on empty. All I want to do is climb into my pajamas, grab my Pringles and savor those moments of turning myself "off". It is a moment akin to the ceremonial "closing of the living room drapes" the moment my daycare day was over where I tell myself "I am closed for business".

My daycare days were long. But they ended earlier in the day. I am struggling with my new hours. I've been doing this for 2-1/2 years but I have yet to find my sweet spot. Thus, I believe I rely too heavily on my co-dependence on chips to get me through the night.

We cannot recreate the past. The best we can do is keep what has worked for us and let the rest go. I'm trying. But there just don't seem to be enough hours in the day. I think this is due to the fact that the sun is getting up before I'm ready for it.

Yes, I shall just blame the sun. Give me six months and I'll be complaining of too little sun. Sometimes? I think I am impossible to please. Honestly ....

Life Cycles

The longer I live, the more I find myself recreating a life I thought I had left behind. I see this on so many levels.

I went to my "Positive Thinking Articles" to find an article to articulate my thoughts and found myself wading through notes I could have written yesterday and positive words I have saved which speak to me today.

I've been here. I've done this. I've pulled myself up and out of the mire time and time again.

Why do I keep finding myself "here"? At a place where I'm wondering what is next and how to handle the present.

I could have sworn that I had learned this lesson the last time. Every time life gets hard, I find myself quitting. I've quit relationships, I've quit jobs, I've walked away and abandoned the life I created so I could start all over again. Time and time again.

The lesson I most likely need to learn is that quitting is not the answer. The answer lies in staying true to the course, overcoming obstacles and gaining a new perspective from the next level one hits at that point.

It's always darkest before the dawn. That's what they say. Dawn is arriving far too soon all of a sudden. I prefer the darkness ...

Dragging My Feet

I am suddenly going through socks at an alarming rate. The first influx of finding at least one hole in at least one sock at the end of each and every day didn't surprise me. My mid-winter replacements of my winter stock of socks never quite lasts until spring. The timing was right.

I keep extra socks on hand, the way I stock my groceries. One "in use" product, with more "back up" products in stock. Each and every spring, I hope my winter socks will last until the bare foot season, so when fall arrives I am rewarded with the intoxicating feeling of wearing brand new socks.

With all of my socks wearing out in warp speed, I knew there was no hope of making them last. I brought out my new fall stock of socks and carried on.

Then my fall stock of socks started sprouting holes. Not only on the heels, but the toes. Not only one at a time, but both at once. What was wrong with these defective socks? Should I try to return them? This was crazy. Socks should last more than a few weeks ...

Then I had an out of body experience. I remembered asking my son if he found himself unconsciously sliding across the new laminate (or was it just me?).

I have been skating across our new flooring ever since its been laid. Then I cleaned it with a cleanser that left a residue which interfered with the easy gliding I had grown accustomed to. The floor had gained resistance to "the slide" so I washed it time and again with only a slightly noticeable difference. I was wondering if I would have to resort to sprinkling a light layer of sawdust around the floor to recreate the surface I had grown accustomed to gliding across.

I brought this dilemma to the attention of my siblings while they were here. They agreed the fault must be in the quality of the socks. Then my sister noticed herself gliding her feet over the surface of the floor even while seated. So the blame started to shift to the laminate. Aha! My son has been wearing out his socks too! I believed we were onto something.

Fast forward to the last morning of our Sibling Sleepover. My sisters were sitting in the living room while I grabbed my coffee before I joined them. They told me I do tend to drag my feet (the unspoken words were "So that must be why you are wearing out your new socks").

The mystery was solved. I went out and restocked my back up supply of socks and life moves on.

Life is like that. At least mine is.

I drag my feet at getting hard things done. I drag my feet and procrastinate on a regular basis. I drag my feet literally and figuratively on many levels of my life. Then I wonder why I feel burnt out, worn out and bedraggled.

When I pick up feet up off the floor and get things done, I have more energy, more enthusiasm and more life.

I'm not only wearing out my socks, I am wearing myself out.

It is much more beneficial to pick up one's feet, move in a forward direction and save the wear and tear on your body, mind and soul (and soles of my socks!).

Having recognized this, one would think it would be best to simply relearn to walk correctly. Me? I'm just grateful the barefoot season will soon be upon us.

I love the sensation of "gliding through life". I much prefer to phrase it that way. It sure beats "dragging my feet". Which is it? Does it really matter? If one can have fun with their flooring, shouldn't they take pleasure in the small things in life?

And does this really matter?!?

The Best Part of Waking Up

This morning, I awoke to flashbacks of yesterday morning wafting through mind. Let me set the scene for you ...

We had a Sibling Sleepover Weekend, this weekend past. My brother and his wife arrived Friday night, while my sisters arrived Saturday afternoon, spent the night and everyone headed home after a leisurely Sunday breakfast.

We had a few late nights so I wasn't the first one up. My bedroom is downstairs so I tried to be conscious of listening for steps overhead so I could get up and resume my hosting duties. The moment I heard the light padding of feet I got up, tended to a few cat chores, got dressed and headed upstairs.

I stepped into the morning to a freshly made pot of coffee, with my sisters visiting quietly in the living room. It was like I stepped back in time.

It was like waking up at Mom's house again.

It was not uncommon for me to be the last one up when we gathered at Mom's. I would step into the morning-in-progress, coffee made and quiet visiting preceded my presence.

During Mom's final year, we often found ourselves together at Mom's or overlapping our visits by a night. After Mom was gone, we made a handful of trips back to Mom's as we tended to her home and estate related matters.

Waking up under the same roof at Mom's home became a great source of comfort to me. My sisters have walked me through many of my life changing events. They became known to me and my heart as my "White Knights", as they drove out together and coached me through difficult times. They are my strength, my backbone and the wind beneath my wings.

While we walked through the Year of Mom together, simply knowing they had my back made me stronger. I walked a walk I never could have walked had we not had that history together and the unwavering knowledge they were behind me all the way. This is not to undermine my brother's role in the entire scenario. The difference was in the moment I walked into yesterday morning. My sisters and I have had many Waking Up at Mom's moments together. Before, during and after Mom's final year.

This familiar scene comforted me in a bear hug kind of way. The presence of family has been part of the tapestry of my life. The only time I haven't felt such a presence is when I have made the choice to go it alone.

I'm grateful my brother was a part of this occasion. As I rewind the memory reel of my mind, I can't think of a time he has had these "Waking Up to Family Moments" my sisters and I have shared. There is something to be said for sleeping under the same roof, waking up to a pot of coffee someone has already made, with the knowledge you are safe in the company of someone who shares your history.

I feel Mom's presence throughout my home. Between her belongings sprinkled throughout each and every one of our homes, her essence etched into our beings and the way the sounds of Mom's home and yard chimed in and throughout our time together, this was the next best thing to waking up at Mom's.

A Most Excellent Weekend

It has been a most excellent weekend. I had few expectations but I was full of hope that it would be easy, relaxed and sprinkled with laughter. As soon as my siblings started to arrive, I knew I would not be disappointed.

We reminisced about how often we have gotten together in the past, in and around April or May. Income tax time, Easter, Mom's birthday and/or Mother's Day have been a reason for Mom to come here, for us to travel out to Mom's or meet Mom and our brother at a midway point for lunch or an overnight stay.

It felt perfect to get together at this time of year. Spring is in the air, travelling is easy and it had been a while since our last sibling visit.

In the past, Mom has been the focus of many of our visits and conversations. The past few years have been heavy. We carried the weight of our worries together and I believe the years brought us closer than ever.

Mom was not the purpose of our visit this time. Yes, we chose a comfortable and familiar time of year to unite but there was no agenda. We came together as family and visited like old friends.

Our conversations bounced all over the map. Past, present and future. It felt so easy to sit among family, talk like best friends, reminisce, catch up and dare to look beyond the moment.

I haven't hosted a family gathering for a while. I felt nervous, out of practise and uncertain how the flow of our newly renovated home would translate into a sibling sleepover. It worked very well. So well, in fact, that I found myself readying the house for my next round of guests (whoever they may be).

If I wash the sheets, they will come...