Thoughts on Being Busy and Waiting

A reading, quiet morning. I am feeling reflective, yet not. Restless, yet not. Waiting. I feel as if I am waiting for something, but I am unsure of what. Mostly I am feeling at quiet loose ends with myself; like I am in limbo for some reason. Searching? Wondering? Curious? Unsettled or too settled? Still, none of those words really describe how I feel. I think maybe this morning I am more about just being in the moment, and yet, not really. Disconnected? Maybe it is just a morning to purge some thoughts, think them, make them lucid, and then dispose of them. I don’t feel one way or another, passionate about any one topic just now. The birds are singing their morning songs, the sun rises over the pasture in all its silver and gold finery, casting green misty beams through the trees and the moss, sparkling dew drops in the grass. It’s a peaceful, quiet time. I want to say it is a fresh morning – that is what Simonetta called a similar morning in Adine-in-Chianti; that cool time before the sun comes up strong and true; a freshness in the air, a cool, calm that almost seems to exist solely to make a person smile.

To match this odd mood I am in I just read this passage from the book I am currently reading; Falling Together by Marisa de los Santos.

                On an impulse, Will asked, “What have you been waiting for?”
                When Pen answered, her voice was solemn and sheepish, “How did you know? Because you’re right. I am waiting. It hits me now and then: that I’ve been saving myself for something. A sign. A person.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Mostly, though, I’m just busy.”

I understand that. I just said this very thing to a friend yesterday. I feel as if I am waiting. For nothing in particular, but for something, somehow. In the meantime, I just feel like I’m busy. A while back I read an article on the word “busy”. Busy is a catch-all word that can mean most anything. Busy-work is work that just keeps a person occupied, maybe busy work is unfulfilling in ways; something to do in order to fill time. Busy is an excuse we use when we don’t want to really do something – I’m sorry, I’m busy now, that night, whenever. “I’m too busy” is an implication somehow that my life is much more important than you or whatever you want to do. There is a lot of stigma in the word “busy”. And yet we seem to consider it a true, honest word. We, as a society in general are just too busy. We fill our lives with so many things; it is almost a badge of honor to be so busy – to be too busy to go out with friends or to attend that concert, or to even find time for ourselves to breathe. Busy-ness is the norm now, and I am pretty sure it is not healthy in any regard. There is that old proverb that idle hands are the devil’s workshop – but I am pretty sure that does not mean fill every waking moment with something; slothfulness is a sin and all that. I guess I’ll get back to that thought when I am not so busy. J I think busy-ness is an excuse, plain and simple. I have been very aware of the word and how often I hear it over the last few months. I have found myself avoiding using it. It does not stop that fact that I often DO have conflicts in my over-booked schedule sometimes, but it does make me aware that I really do need to change what I try to fit into my life on a daily or weekly basis. I too often fill my days with things that are not fulfilling my soul. So Pen’s statement about waiting; I think that is true in a nutshell. Busy-ness, killing time, waiting. That is what I am aware of this quiet, reflective, yet not, morning. I’m in a waiting mood.

To Read is a voyage

“One glance at a book and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for 1,000 years. To read is to voyage through time.”
― Carl Sagan

Pieces of a memory

March 3, 2015

As I walked to the mailbox tonight I found a piece of ceramic tile. Many, many years ago before this house was built, back when my father-in-law owned this property he collected “stuff”. One man’s junk is another’s treasure, and to him it was all treasure. One of his treasures was a load of broken pieces of tile. I am sure he had a purpose in mind for it one day – in his mind’s eye it was useful. After he died and we eventually built this house, Steve filled in the foot of the driveway with wheelbarrow loads of those tile pieces. We had dump truck loads of gravel put in, too, and all these years later, pieces of tile float to the top surface, especially after heavy rains.

 I’ve always thought of finding those pieces of tile a bit like stumbling on the memories of my life with Steve. Little pieces of the past, in a way. Several years ago I wrote in my blog about that topic. My blog disappeared a few months ago – poof, gone into cyber space, but I had the foresight to save at least some of my entries. So this is a piece of my past writing; past moments, all because just now I found another piece of tile in my driveway.

Dec. 29th, 2007

08:33 am - One Man's Junk

A long time ago my father-in-law was a junk collector. To him it was not junk, but future possibilities. To the neighbors, seeing his various dilapidated barns and piles of pipes, old washing machines, farm equipment, etc.; he collected junk. When I moved in here so many years ago, to me, it was junk. When we bought the place 20 years ago, to us both, Steve and I, it was junk. Steve tried hard to clean it up. He would have a pile sorted out and all ready to go to the dump, but somehow that pile mysteriously dwindled and days later he would find some of what he classified as junk back where it had been. To Mr. Foster it was treasure waiting for it's proper use. He knew most everything he had, too. In his mind there was order in what we perceived as chaos. When he died a few years after we bought the place, it was possible for Steve to finally get some of that stuff out of here. He had a friend who hauled off load after load of steel, metal, pipe, etc and he sold it for all for scrap and ended up making a good bit of money. Steve never regretted the money his friend made; he was just glad to have that stuff out of here! So the land was cleared, and seven years later we built this house To do so, we had to tear down the last barn standing. After the new house was up, the old house had to come down, and that was the end of the era of the junk collection here on this property. It has reverted back to grass and trees and nature, and it is a beautiful place to live. It is funny that now and then I long for those days. Not so much the junk (junk in Florida attracts roaches, snakes, rats, bull ants, etc). I long for the happiness of those days; for the order of my life in all of that chaos. It is as if when the junk left and the new house went up, the order of my life went with it. Did that junk somehow represent as the natural order of my life?

Part of the junk collection was a pile of ceramic tile. There were four inch squares that had been broken and of various colors that were mis-matched, but mostly the pile was tiny one inch square tiles. They were tiles from someone’s bathroom once; imagine the life they had? Lining someone’s bathroom floor, walls, shower stall? Laid ages ago, someone worked to keep them clean; they witnessed lives being lived, and then, poof, one day, they were removed. Maybe the house was removed to make way for a newer house, and somehow those tiles ended up here in the junk collection of an old man who saw their future potential, or maybe he just imagined their past; who can say? Steve used those tiles in the driveway as filler. After he dumped the loads of tile in the driveway, we got in a dump-truck load of fine gravel. It took him days, but he finally got it leveled. However many years ago that was, the fine gravel has basically all dissipated into the ground. Now the tiles pop to the surface of the driveway like memories. I find myself collecting them and saving them in a glass bowl. This morning on my way to the road to retrieve the garbage can, I found two more. I brought them to the house, washed them off, and I will keep them like scraps of my life; scraps of the life I had here, ceramic scraps of the past that remind me of my life and my happiness; of who I was, and who I want to continue to be.

Today is my wedding anniversary. I am divorced, and I hate that word, hate that state of being. I miss being married, I loved being married. I reserve this one day to myself each year. I let myself remember, I cry if I choose, I laugh at some thoughts, and I let myself wallow a bit in how it used to be. I can tell myself I am ok, I will be happy again, I will be loved again, and I mostly believe that. But this one day a year I let myself be alone with my thoughts and my feelings; whichever direction they take, and I give this to myself without judgment or justification, and I think that is fine. Finding two tiles this morning was like finding two memories waiting for me.

Current Location: The back porch

Current Mood: reflective but not sad

Current Music: The chatter of birds

 

At the Water's Edge by Sara Gruen

Before I delved into this book I read some of the reviews; not something I normally do, but I was curious. Some criticized it for not being historically accurate, or in casting an incorrect light on WW2. To me, the books was not about World War 2 or many of the events that lead up or resulted from the war. It was about the lives of people during wartime, yes, and how they coped and lived and how life still went on in spite of it all. In fact, one of the characters observes that very thing - that life continued; girl continued to want to dress up for their men, that parties took place, regardless. Maddie was a rich party girl, living a spoiled elite society life with her husband and their best friend until they take things too far and are banished from their home, cut-off from society and most of their money. They decide, on a whim, to adventure to Scotland to correct the wrong they did by proving the Loch Ness monster really did exist. Once in wartime Scotland Maddie quickly discovers that she had been living a life of illusion. She discovers strength in herself she did not know existed and she discovers unpleasant truths about her life and her past. I like her growth as a character, and I really liked the friendships she formed. As Maddie grew and changed she saw behind the façade of her marriage and her life. Monster's can often hide in plain sight.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/584274-kim">View all my reviews.

Peace and Reflection

February 8, 2015 

This morning I am feeling peaceful, yet reflective. Every tiny thing brings a memory – the trill of the morning birds, sweet, singing their songs, seemingly to my human ears, purely for my enjoyment. The fresh, cool air streaming in through the open back door (48 degrees cool). The slant of sunshine pouring in through the glass, sliding across the counter, diving through the bottles of wine stored there; jeweled prisms refracting, casting beautiful glances across the kitchen. The early morning fog floats above the ground; the dewy grass shines diamond rainbows where the sunlight catches dewdrops through the mist. It’s a beautiful, calm start to Sunday. 

                                                                                             

The slant of the sun triggers quick thoughts, memories of moving into the house originally. Steve asleep on the mattress in the bedroom; the bed frame leaning against the wall. A variety of boxes scattered around the house; me, an early riser always, prowling through the newness of the house and familiarizing myself with my settings. One of the first things that caught my attention was the light streaming through the brand new glass on the oversized sliding doors. The moss was not so thick in the trees, a large oak branch flung its arm across the yard and the sun played tag with the extending fingers of the tree. The quiet was beautiful – we were farther off the road, and peace and tranquility were mine in that brief moment in time. 

The cool morning air reminds me of so many summer days at home in New York I cannot name them all – pressing my nose to the dusty metal screen in my grandmothers upstairs bedrooms – breathing in wood dust, morning air, sweet cool air. Of sitting on the back porch at the lake, the sound of frogs chirping, burping, splashing; the cast of a fishing line as someone cast on the lake; the sound of a motor starting, then stopping as the fisherman moved their boats to another sweet spot. The clink of the flagpole as the flag danced and furled in the early morning breeze. Beautiful moments in time fleeting as they pass, yet forever destined to be reminders of the story of my life.

Selfish Kim Day

December 29, 2014 ~“I’ve made mistakes in my life. I’ve let people take advantage of me, and I accepted way less than I deserve, but I’ve learned from my bad choices and even though there are some things I can never get back and people who will never be sorry, I’ll know better next time and I won’t settle for anything less than I deserve.” ~Unknown

Thoughts to ponder today. Today is a day I reserve for myself. I call it my “Selfish Kim Day”, and yet that is not really the best way to honor myself, which is what I consider today. Until I can think of a better name, that is still what it is. I don’t answer the phone, I don’t make plans with anyone but myself. It is about me; for me. A day to do as I please when it pleases me. My one day a year I can truly claim as my own for just me.

Today marks the 30^th anniversary of my marriage to Steve. Now, today is not about being lost in the past or searching for answers as to why it faded. I consider it a day of reflection, of remembering who I was and moving into who I can become. Life is a process; each day we learn and we grow – or we are supposed to. It is an honor in my life to remember that day – now 30 years ago. It was truly the best day of my life, and in spite of all the changes since then, it remains so. I knew myself thoroughly that day, and I was so sure and so confident that day. I said I would, and I meant it with all of my heart and soul. I chose today as my “selfish day” because it is a date easy for me to remember because it was a significant date in my life. Edel told me once to choose another date and make it my own, and I tried, but you know, it just was not the same. So today, December 29 remains my day. The last few years I have not had “my” day; two years ago I spent it with friends from Stockholm; last year with my brother and sister-in-law, so this year it feels nice to have my day again.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, a breeze is blowing. It’s a beautiful day in Florida, a beautiful day to be alive and to be able to count my blessings and the joys in my life. My marriage was certainly one of those blessings. I do not believe in regrets at all. I am so glad that I met, fell in love with, and married Steve. He was a beautiful soul; a beautiful addition in my life. We were together a long time, and we were blessed with a happy marriage, even if it ended sadly. Of course I have moments of “what-if” and sorrow that I lost something so valuable, and maybe in some alternative universe I am still married, I could have had children, and might now even have grandchildren. But, life happens, people change, and we grow together or we don’t, and in this world here I am, me, alone with myself. Sadly, it took a long time for me to get over the huge loss in my life. It is true that it is only in the past few years that I have been able to know that life is good again, and really is as it should be. I knew he was gone, I knew it ended, but my heart was so slow to catch on. It’s not with regret that I say that, but with a sigh. And yet, I really do believe that everything happens as it should. Losing my marriage and myself for a long time was not easy, but I think of all that I have gone through to get to where I am now, and I know it happens as it should. I would not be the person I am today without my marriage or my life before and after that point. I would not have finished college as I did, traveled as I did, met the people I did, experienced the things I did without all the loss and sadness, or even the joys that were in-between, and today who I am is because of all of that. I know I am a kind, caring, beautiful person inside and out, and I am grateful for the good, and for the bad and sad things we all think we don’t need to experience, or can do without. Today, on my Selfish-Kim day, I am so grateful to be who and where I am in my life.

Fear

"Are you intimidated by anything" he asked softly...
"Of course I am," she called back.
"Like what?"
The future. A life derailed. Twice. Not understanding what I did wrong, or what I could have done different to make things turn out right.
But she didn't say any of that.

from The Glass Kitchen: a novel of sisters
by Linda Francis Lee