Pockets of time
Thank you for all your opinions and reassurance. After much searching the web and quizzing people, including several long phone calls with my mastergardener aunt, we’ve determined that it’s Boston ivy, because of the angle at which new shoots grow, and because of the little sucking pads by which it adheres to the wall. And anyway, no rash yet. So I’m feeling better.
This week is a little betwixt and between. Ed has started work. The children have had little get-to-know-the-classroom sessions at school but won’t start until next week. Daniel is beside himself because the science teacher has agreed that he can build a scale model of the solar system at school and he’s hysterical with delight. And needs to start school RIGHT NOW.
I too am looking for a rhythm to carry me through the next little bit. When school starts, when I have work days, when we have a schedule, when I know what’s for supper more than three minutes before suppertime, I think that I’ll be able to inhale more deeply. Right now there are just pockets of time, like potholes, waiting for the rain to come and fill them. I don’t know what to do, other than the routine work that each day requires: laundry; food; tidying. These pockets of time scare me when I look at them from too far away. They look like empty seas, and I have no water to fill them. Close up, it’s easier to make it from one puddle to the next, making it through. I want to do more than make it through, but right now I’ll take what I can get.
You have articulated down to the most minute particle what I am feeling and have been all summer–an odd, disconnected, massively disorganized lack of any real plan, or even something to tether me to my life.
We also just moved from big city (L.A.) to tiny town (upstate NY) and though I wanted our move, I relate so much to what you’re feeling and am so grateful to read someone who expresses better than I can the impact of our relocation….Thank you.