Morning Musings

The temperatures have risen,  just as we wanted them to do. The snow is melting, flowing into every muddy crack and boggy crevice, just as we swore we wanted it to do. The roof tiles are no longer frozen over and the rain spouts have been freed to push out the coming spring rains.

The birds are not as needy, coming less to the feeders, instead looking for nesting materials and sturdy tree branches to start new families. The squirrels are springing from spot to spot on the lawn, locating hidden treats, surprised each time they find one.

My road is decimated, the product of last fall's new waterline project and exacerbated by the cars, buses, and trucks that refuse to slow down despite pothole craters and orange pylons. The muck will continue and worsen as the crews return soon to dig out my front yard for new sidewalks and ultimately, installing new road asphalt. It will be worth it, but in the meantime, oh, my car axles and aching back from the ever-worsening last quarter mile to home!

When the dogs awakened me for their early morning backyard jaunt, the bird songs were almost deafening in the still darkened trees. I easily separated the chickadee lilt and cardinal multi-tone, but still had a few to identify. I know they are searching my seasoned trees for branches on which to build their homes. Every year I have new avian families settle in nearby and it is a thrill to hear the timid chirps from the little ones when the nests are low enough.

Everyday living is stressful. So many things I can't control or change despite my best efforts. I question my effectiveness and place in the world, and whether I actually have the leadership skills and creative abilities I have always thought were my strengths. In the midst of the reassessment I have been forced to do relentlessly for close to two years now, the small comforts come from the predictability of things like bird songs and potholed streets and spring rains. If only the small things, the comforting things, had the ability to change the things which sadly control our lives.

I try to always listen for the bird songs.

The Pace of Life

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This world we live in rarely affords a chance to slow down and regain our perspective. New responsibilities fly at us daily and so often we are in survival mode, trying to just stay afloat and make progress. Years ago it was an art to plan ahead and have everything in place well in advance for family events, bill paying, and even down time. Now, stores stay open past midnight because they know people can't plan ahead for gift-buying. Bills are overdue because there is more month than money, and down time? Too often it doesn't even make the list.

When I was a young mother, I measured my success by how well I organized my day, my children, my life. It was a good day when I was in the car and on my way to church or an outing with time to spare and happy children all around. It was an excellent day when we were singing and laughing as we drove.

Today I watch young parents struggle to have strength at the end of the day for much more than hot dogs and sparse conversation. The loop of each 24 hour day rarely changes and by the end of each week, you can read the fatigue and helplessness in the downward slump of the shoulders. Add to that the burden of the world when they flip on media in any form and read about downed planes, executions, gas prices up and stocks down, and hundreds of loved ones lost in foreign countries for causes we don't really understand.

How does this change? Where is the hope? And dare I say at the risk of being dismissed as a denizen from "the older generation," when do we return to earlier times when sitting on the porch daily with loved ones was simply enough? Not just for a week of vacation so we can instagram it or save it on blogs, but something we do as often as we can. Preference? Every day in some way.

I have a friend who, in warmer weather, brews her morning coffee and automatically moves to the porch to start the day. Sometimes I know she has donned a jacket, perhaps even grabbed a blanket, and greets the morning regardless of temperatures. Others do yoga or early morning exercise, take walks or sunrise runs, read a chapter or study the Bible, all done without guilt that something else is being neglected while the pace is measured more slowly.

What will your true memories be of the movie of your life? I don't recall the days I rushed and shoved and barely survived. I remember the weekly ritual of Sunday afternoon jigsaw puzzles with my beloved grandmother. I automatically smile when I reflect on the hours of Candyland I inflicted on her. Many afternoons of my youth were spent riding a bicycle to nowhere, around and around the block, and later, around and around my college campus.

Somewhere along the way that sense of guilt took over and society pressured us to believe "doing" is a sign of success. Why did we give a faceless and disconnected voice such power? It controls us. We apologize for failing to keep the pace, and then try to march faster.

The stress, panic, fears are killing us by the thousands and even sadder, depriving our loved ones of the quality of memories many of us have had in the past. How do we turn this around so we can live longer, live happier, and reflect more? Will you join the conversation and share?