Taking Time for Summer

One take on chronic procrastination might be to redefine our to-do lists to reflect what we're actually likely to do.

Along those lines, I have observed in recent weeks that I am more likely to publish 3 or 4 blog posts per week, than I am to achieve my self-established standard of Monday through Friday, 5 posts a week blogging.

I have therefore decided to relax my blogging rule for the summer, and to aim for 3 to 4 posts each week.  This reflects more sensibly the time I have to give, what with two recall elections, one triathlon, and work for a major new web client vying for my energies.  It answers my "heart's desire" for a more leisurely pace than the one I've been keeping.  And it will instantly improve my rate of success, and transfuse my flagging self-esteem.

I may be, as some have suggested, a bit of a troglodyte.  But I savor memories of summertimes past, when life slowed, routines fell away, and there was time to read, to garden, and to play.  I am lucky enough to live in a house filled with books, with two well-stocked libraries nearby, just in case.  God knows my "garden," in a state of utter neglect, needs me.  And one of my favorite people in the world is three years old, and treasures his "long-Nana-days."

I trust the world will survive with one or two less bulletins a week from me, for the next couple of months. 

Giving In to the Snow

In the middle of what our local media are referring to, variously, as "Snowapalooza," "Snowmageddon," and "Snowpocalypse," I am face to face with a personal demon.  An evil inner voice has come to seduce my inner snow angel with promises of productivity, self-improvement, and achievement.  I could be getting so much done!  What better time to start to dig out the basement, to declutter the kitchen, to catch up on the health insurance and medical bills mess?

Fortunately, I still have two of my children at home, and my three-year-old grandson living just blocks away.  So if my soul is in too weakened a state to recognize the mandate to play and re-create, delivered as a cold, white wallop, they are here to remind me.  

How did I get to a place where a statewide--nay, regional--snow day puts me in a state of distress as I stew over how I'm going to get everything done?  I remember a time, not so very long ago, when my heart did a little dance at the thought of the world stopping for a day; when I stopped too, happily, willingly.  Snow days were for baking, maybe.  For building snowmen, and forts, and having snowball fights.  For movies, puzzles, board games.  If I left the house at all, it was for a sledding hill, or to walk in the sparkling streets. 

My son, who I raised to know better than me, it seems, has just commanded me to let go today, and to accept the gift of being snowed in.  My grandson wants Nana to help build "snow persons."  And so, although phones and email can penetrate our fortress, I'm going to follow the lead of our local schools, libraries, and coffee shops--and close for business.  Just for today.  Cocoa, anyone?