that's mrs. mediocrity to you

that felt like

the perfect snapshot

of my

life.

::

In spite of the weather, which has been nothing but cold and grey and rainy for weeks, Spring is forcing its way to the surface. A reminder that life goes on, even in the worst of circumstances.

Growth happens even when you can’t see it, or feel that it’s impossible. Fragility is often an illusion. There is strength to be found in this tiny flower that managed to poke its head through the wet, heavy ground. One small victory for one minuscule part of the food chain that is life.

There’s something to be said for tenacity, that never-give-up kind of stubbornness that keeps us moving through each day, clinging to the bits of sunshine and beauty that by chance may fall upon our shoulders.

It’s the ability to weather the storm that gets us there,

standing with our feet mired in a field full of mud,

and the sun on our face, blossoming.

it finally happened. i caught up with myself.

and before you get too excited and start congratulating me, let me explain that i am not caught up, it’s just that I am so far behind that i turned the corner and ran smack dab into myself.

running in circles never gets you anywhere, does it?

and believe me, it wasn’t pretty. i look a mess, all disheveled and distracted and harried. and i’m not even going to mention my hair.

i keep trying to force myself to slow down, but there just isn’t anyplace to do it. right now, my life is a scramble. some of it is self-imposed, but when it comes right down to it, most of it is not. so i keep scrambling and scurrying and squeaking by.

but, oh my.

now that i’ve gotten a good look at myself from behind, i can see that some things just have to change.

i need to, um, pare things down a bit.

i’m not yet sure where to start, where the give and take will happen.

but this rubberband is about to snap me back into place.

here’s hoping i land on my feet.

Hindsight is 20/20. or at least that’s what they say. I am blind as a bat, no matter what direction I’m looking in.

I keep trying to focus on what’s right in front of me, and sometimes, I can actually do it.

Other times, no matter how hard I squint, everything stays just a little fuzzy around the edges.

The older I get, the faster life passes me by. Or the faster I pass it, I’m not sure which. It’s like the blur on the edges of a highway. I know something is there, but I can’t quite make out exactly what it is.

When I slow down to get a closer look, all I see is trash and weeds and dirty ditches.

But wait.

If I look just a little harder, take my time and notice the details,

I see a small blossom nestled in amongst the detritus.

And that’s what I’m looking for.

Always.

a moment in the sun

comes better late

than never.

And/or, everything is broken.

My knee doesn’t work, spring still hasn’t managed to find its way up north, my computer keeps revolting, my house is a mess and it took five phone calls to get the phone company to fix the thing they told me was fixed on the first call. And it only got fixed on the fifth call because Rebecca in Arizona accidentally switched me to the programming department.

This was after John in New York assured me it was fixed two weeks ago, and Terry in Florida assured me it was fixed a couple days after that, and Jody in Colorado assured me it was fixed three days ago, and two hours ago, Jenny in Virginia assured me it was really, truly fixed this time after we spent 45 minutes on the phone together.

Except, it still wasn’t fixed.

So when I called back AGAIN, I got Rebecca, whom I could barely hear and who, after I spent five minutes explaining the whole problem to again, stressing that I work from home and really need this taken care of, said, “So, what can I help you with today?”

Deep breath. Long strings of silent curses that were dangerously close to becoming audible.

“I just explained it all to you, did you not hear what just I said?”

“I’m sorry, I was listening to someone else who was talking to me at the same time you were.”

Deep teeth marks in my tongue at this point, from all that biting.

Finally, after being put on hold (again!) for so long that the phone rang through to somewhere else, I ended up with the programming department in the city 30 miles from here, which is where they handle all the problems that I have been explaining to other people all over the country for the past two weeks.

Is it just me, or is there something wrong with this picture?

Can’t someone, somewhere, figure out how to set up a customer service system, or a health care system, or any system, that actually works?

I know, I’m ranting. And I’m sorry.

I know there are far worse things going on in the world, and quite honestly, that is all part of this frustration, this feeling that everything is broken.

That’s from a song, you know. I didn’t make it up.

But I’m singing it really, really loud right now.

Is anyone listening?

Yesterday was a day filled with little big things.

I got up incredible early, I dropped my son off at the airport for his first solo trip to a big city, I watched the sun rise, and I went to a nature center with my brother and his wife and my parents.

There were all kinds of birds feeding out of our hands. Well, okay, not my hands because mine were holding a camera, but I got a lot of really great pictures of chickadees and nuthatches and a titmouse and cardinals and a beautiful turkey vulture. (Now that’s an oxymoron if ever there was one!)

This little sparrow landed right at my feet to pick up the piece of corn that is in his mouth, and then kept hopping towards me as I took his photo. Something about him just made me laugh. He was quite the show-off, puffing himself all up and acting tough.

A few minutes later, we had a visit from a four-legged friend that completely melted my heart. (I will be writing about that over at Inspiration Studio tomorrow.)

In the grand scheme of things, it was just another day, filled with pretty normal activities. But for me, there were a lot of big moments. Moments I will always remember, and some that I will probably forget. But I lived in each one, immersed in its beauty, significance, simplicity, and the ability to make me smile.

And every smile most certainly qualifies as a little big thing,

don’t you think?

I have a lot of somedays floating around in my head, I always have.

There is the house I will live in, the perfect weight I will be at, the marathon I will complete, the garden I will tend, the book I will write. The world will be at peace. Someday.

And though I remind myself, often, that someday never comes, that there is only just today, this day, the one I am in, those somedays always come creeping back in. I suppose it’s human nature, to dream, to look to the future, to wonder what it might hold.

But then I wonder how much of my life I am missing or wasting by spending time on someday when I could be, should be, spending it in this day, in this hour, in this moment.

I go back and forth between the two, trying to find the balance. Living in the moment is so much more difficult than it sounds. My body can do it, my physical self has no choice but to be where it is when it is there. But my mind, it wanders.

And yes, I can rein it in, pull it back, sit it down in this chair and say, listen.

But is that always the best thing to do? Aren’t those dreams just as important as the smell of the flowers in the vase before me? Aren’t the possibilities as valuable as the present? Most days, I can’t decide. I try to do both, appreciate where I am, while also contemplating where I might end up.

In a perfect zen moment I am only here, in the now, in the sun I sit in, the leaves I rake, the floor I sweep. When I have those moments, I revel in them, breathe them in, embrace their importance.

But my mind has its own set of wings and often takes flight before I can stop it. And when it soars high above me looking towards some other time and place, I have to wonder if it’s fair to keep it tethered to my ankle.

I don’t have the answer to which way is best. I know it’s important to enjoy what I have when I have it, where I am. I know this. I see beauty in the tiniest of places, in the green daffodil shoots there, at my feet, in the steaming cup of tea that starts my day, in that kitten cleaning his paws in the corner. I recognize the value of immersing myself in these things.

But then my mind will hear the echo of a promise and take off in search of the source.

Sometimes, I just sit back and let it wander.

My body can holds its place ’til it returns.

Someday.

We’ve all got the fever at my house, everyone is restless, even the animals. Yesterday was a gorgeous day, especially for March, sunny and almost 60 degrees. Every bone in my body wanted to go running, except for my right knee which has staged an all-out revolt and is no longer my ally.

And so, no running. I raked a little, as much as a girl who can’t bend much, or squat at all, could do. I sat in the sun and listened to the red-winged blackbirds chirp about how much they wished I would go back inside so they could eat in private. I took 323 pictures, and I smiled, on the inside, all day.

I found my happy place, apparently it has been hiding outside, in my garden. I felt my heart stretch after months of cringing, my body relaxed, my mind wandered, little pieces of my soul danced on the breeze. And I wasn’t even out there for very long.

It was just long enough to restore my faith in progress, the moving forward, the changing scene. Long enough to allow myself to stand still and breathe in the scent of earth, the call of bird, the blanket of sky. I wrapped myself in its warmth and carried it back inside.

I feel it still, cradling me, as I whisper these thoughts to the moon.
I will keep it close by my side for a while longer, as surely there will be more snow, more cold, more rain, more grey.

But it’s March and there are birds singing and buds on trees and tiny green shoots poking tiny green heads up through the ground.

Soon it will be time to shake out that blanket, fold it ever-so-gently, and pack it away.

For now, I’ll take these days as the gifts they are, and hold them carefully in hands dry and brittle from a too-long, too dark winter.

Grateful for the prettiness of promise, the reassurance of renewal,

fine wrappings for the platitudes of life.

My name is Jake.

I’m here to wish my dad a very Happy Birthday.

This is how I look, every time I see him.

p.s.

My mom says Happy Birthday, too.