Wednesday, September 19, 2007
The house holds memories and clutter everywhere I turn. Noah must intend not to be forgotten as he always leaves a pair of shoes and one shirt each time he visits. As of now, I have two pair of shoes that belong to him, two shirts, an electric guitar and a cassette player with Lesson One for Klingon in a stack by the door. I intend to return these personal items to him when I bring his "back to school" lasagna to his apartment tomorrow.
Johannah's stuff is everywhere. She left her make-up bag, one pink and gold shoe (its mate made it to college and then came home having forgotten it's left foot match), her Smart Car (tiny toy Italian vehicle that makes happy music when you open its door or turn on its motor), and oodles of books. This morning I found Jane Eyre and her ACT preparation book sitting on the entry bench.
My "office" (a make shift space in what ought to be a dining room) is littered with file folders of new students, lesson plans, homeschool worksheets, the first week's assignments waiting for grades and a box of Gevalia coffee I intend to open for tonight's first PHEN meeting.
I can't begin to describe the exhaustion I feel. My mind is limp. My imagination vapid. I've lost all energy to think, process, examine or reflect. I wonder why I ever cared about anything intellectual, why I've worried about faith (what it is, whether I have it, what God thinks about it all).
Instead, I read Vanity Fair over morning tea and gleefully circle Tuesday and Wednesday of next week on the calendar. Why? Those days mark the return of House and CSI: Las Vegas.
That is so not like me!
So I decided to give in to it. I'm letting myself be. I'm being with myself. Yoga emphasizes that we must only go to our edge, not beyond it. When the muscles send signals to the brain insisting that I "back off" of that particularly tough stretch, I'm supposed to obey. I'm not supposed to say, "Forget your face - I'm stretching! I was a gymnast a million years ago so I should be able to flatten my tummy to the floor while my legs are spread eagle." I've learned to love my body by listening to it.
It occurred to me that I'm at that tender edge spiritually, intellectually. I may have had all the energy in the world for mental yogic postures for the last four years in particular. But today, I don't. All the years of intensity followed by the quick, important exits of my oldest kids into the "other world" have left me quiet in front of a computer screen and backyard window. Sometimes I do nothing at all, but sit and try to remember what I'm supposed to be doing. Then I get lost in a thought and notice a squirrel run up the tree branch and I come to.
Liam and I are watching birds again this year. We'll watch them, record who comes to our feeder. We'll think of new treats to give them so more will come. We're learning ornithological terminology together - a new world of words. I never tire of new words. That feels like enough challenge for a little while. It feels just about right.