Photos of Fern and Leonidas taken by Jeff at the Sutro Baths
I opened up iPhoto this morning to discover documentation of an adventure, one that I was absent for. All at once delightful and disconcerting, I find myself feeling a little jealous on having missed out. Fridays are my “work” days (in which I try to accomplish the 80,000 things I can’t get done with a wee one in tow.). I plowed through a lot of menial tasks last Friday, including adding up my internship hours to report to the BBS (only to discover I am barely half way through the required 3,000. Ugh). While everyday mundane work looms large, like it keeps the world spinning round, it often feels in contrast to the real meaningful-ness of it all. Frustrated at being interrupted for the umpteenth time while trying to git ‘er done, if I take the moment to look in her eyes, I re-member what it’s all for. Sometimes then, I feel guilt or sorrow that I am working instead of connecting…connecting to my daughter, to life.
Yet, this is an either/or framework that doesn’t sit well with me. Something feels wonky, and this morning, as I poke at it, I find myself slapping my forehead. I feel resentful about “work”. The menial “work” of being a therapist, of being organized, of being beholden. I scrunch up at the menial work of being a mom. The dishes. The mess. The dishes. The dishes. THE DISHES.
What is missing here is….ME. Where Am I, in all this? My body is here, but my brain is running amuck, galavanting off on some ideal homesteading adventure or wandering about in the wilderness collecting plants. I begin to fill up with dissatisfaction, with envy, with irritated grumpitude. Being here now is not just about when I want to be, when it feels good. It’s about being here…now. Now. Now.
Chop wood, carry water, and all that. (Click on that link for a nice meditation). Still trying to figure out how to be here now and continue to look for a new home, without solidifying either one with desires or “shoulds”. Or how to open to embodiment when I’m tired as hell and my physical experience is pain, without immediately jumping to how it needs to be fixed. I’ll let you know how that goes. In the meantime, in honor of soft bellies and slow, elderly dogs, I am re-minded…slow, sink down, moment by moment. Blink my eyes to remove the veil, and open to the glory. And the shit.
And balance work with play. Something this family is good at.
We began Saturday with a trip to the beach.
(The only item of clothing I bought in this photo are my boots and Fern’s thrifted sweater. Everything else was a groundscore, gift or hand-me-down. Gratitude and abundance.)
Leo came over on Sunday and we made Grape Soda (currently in the process of fermenting) and Valentine Bath Bombs.
Both were fairly simple and easy…stay tuned for tutorials on Wednesday!
P.S. Blogger and/or google chrome are still giving me problems and I can’t comment on your blogs. I miss the dialogue, but do know that I am present to your writing…I’m just on mute!
P.P.P.S. I’m no longer prompt, but I’m still commenting on your comments from past posts. If you are curious, check back.