Time. What does it look like? What does it feel like, this time I am giving to myself to, yet again, heal (see previous posts Stick and Grief First)?
I am amazed by the bluebirds heralding spring, much brighter than I’ve remembered. Cobalt blue flashes flitting alongside my car, past the pond, the cattails and the winter pastures, on the dirt road to town to get the mail. That’s saying nothing of the meadowlarks, back again already, pairs of them staking their territories by song. The air is filled with them.
And a sprinkling of yellow and purple wildflowers bravely blossoming with snow yet on the southern slopes and in the shadows. Here it is, what I call the “false” spring because I am certain we will have more snow and even, possibly, the deep late frost that has taken all the fruit from the early-blooming apricot, apple and peach trees in winters past, lulled into believing these attempts at spring.
Today I saw cranes on their migratory journey back up north, making a remarkable, melodious racket you’d recognize if ever you’ve heard it just once—vibrant, bright, throaty cries for life, sweet life. I worry they’re traveling too soon.
We even put the chairs out at the picnic table and celebrated Kim’s (see previous post A Very Mini Artist’s Colony in New Mexico) brother Bruce’s birthday, partially, there.
And then there is the French Madeleine pan Kim ordered from France—old metal, found in a flea market there.
And his first trial run at the delicious delicacies (don’t worry, a recipe will definitely follow some day soon-ish).
And Finny clowning around, getting Scrumpy to chase him, making me laugh out loud, until she drops, spent. No small feat.
Time. What is it like? It is exactly like this.
In this day and age, can we give ourselves the gift of time? Is that still possible? Can we pull ourselves out of the flurry of work and chores and errands and commitments to others, even for a few moments each day? Would it be permissible to give ourselves a luxurious something we may want, like time to read the New Yorker or whatever book we have going in the middle of the day, to daydream, meditate, take a nap, or even do the more “responsible” yoga, whatever it is we want but shunt aside for other more pressing matters?
I’ve decided to walk again, just for me, without the dogs. They’ll have their walk first thing in the morning as the sun rises. MY walks will be mine alone.
I even bought an iPod. Don’t laugh, those of you who have sailed past me with all the latest devices. I’ve steered clear of them until now and will admit that at first I saw it as “the enemy.” I couldn’t figure the darned thing out! But we’ve become fast friends now.
I broke down and bought it because I heard an ad for audible.com. Books, books and more books made to listen to with great production values! I never have enough time to read so I decided I’ll “read” while I walk–two great things in one.
And I am walking–back out to the llano where I’ve not been for years, because I WANT to. Because I’ve missed it but felt I didn’t have the time. Now I’m making the time. The llano is where the horse series of paintings was birthed, by the way, for those of you who loved that series.
Time. What will it be like, slowly moving, luxurious time, set aside just for me? “Unproductive,” “selfish,” “lazy” time…
Yes, I’m out on the road again—down the first hill, steeply, to the top of the second hill, equally steep. A good friend who is a dancer said anyone who did this walk regularly would get in shape (remember I’m at 8500’ which helps). I hope so because I don’t want to grow old before my time and I fear I may have during these last 2 ½ years of shingles.
But I choose strength. I choose to stay strong, to get strong again—one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. I can already feel a glimmer of my old self returning and I’m thrilled.
I am starting out slowly though. And a key is not to rush myself to get out there. I’m allowing mornings, days, to unfold gently—following my curiosities from one thing to another until it is finally time to get out there and walk, no rush… Walking is my new job and it will wait for me, patiently.
Time. What would it look like if you gave yourself some? Tell me, I want to know.
Love to you all,
Jeane
Like you, I have been taking walks by myself lately, without the dogs. And time? This week I’ve been making a conscious effort to speak less, to perceive the depth and breadth of my surroundings, to realize that I myself am an integral part of them, but often barely notice them. And I have been inspired by these words from Thomas Merton, a writer I have admired: ‘If you go into solitude with a silent tongue, the silence of mute beings will share with you their rest.’
Thomas Merton…I aspire to know him someday.
I feel the same about Thomas Merton….
Yes, lovely, Mark. A wonderful way to be within time itself, to be among and remember you are one with your surroundings and the other “mute beings.”
“But I choose strength. I choose to stay strong, to get strong again—one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. ” I am going to make that my mantra. I still pray for you but sometimes I hear God saying, she can take it. She is strong. I’m busy telling God you shouldn’t have to. But there is a mystery in there that we don’t know. We will know it someday. We keep on walking.
Oh, thank you, Sherry. What a gathering of tender thoughts. It is a good practice, isn’t it, to love what is? We can never know the blessings hidden within ANYTHING we may be experiencing. And so we keep walking. A lovely way to put it.
Jeane, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you in person, at least not yet, but hope to someday. My daughter Sylvia lives in Albuquerque and introduced me to your blog. I really enjoy it and want to thank you for sharing part of your life with me. I love your writing as well as your photos.
My life is somewhat hectic as my husband and I are involved with our three little grandsons that also live in Jacksonville. We don’t have a lot of “free” time but consider our time with these little guys a gift. But, this latest blog struck a cord with me as I also struggle with finding some “me” time. I’m working on it as you are.
Thanks again. I will be waiting on your next publication.
Sandy Montesinos
So lovely to hear from you, Sandy. Sylvia is such a dear.
I swear, finding quiet time is such a challenge. I think we almost have to fight for it, to schedule it at the very least. Even when the time we spend with others is such a gift, as with your grandchildren, time for ourselves is worth finding. Good luck with your efforts.