Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Spill

Late this afternoon, I had a thought, I think I'll survive this winter after all.

It could have something to do with the fact that it was nearly 50 degrees. We're scoring early-March temps in early January.

It's funky. And I like it.

I celebrated by staying in my pajamas all day.

I promise I don't it as often as it may seem. I just feel compelled to confess when I do. Of course I don't like it. I don't enjoy being grungy all day. Yes, I avoid any and all mirrors. True, I might hide from Siley's camera. Indeed, I feel cooped up cozy, happy as a girl can be for the kind of day that requires nothing more from me than my presence. Of course I love it.

I washed sheets and read books out loud.

I brainstormed some crafts - Valentine's day is comiiiing!

I wished so bad that I could spirit myself to Austin Texas for this, come March.

When the bigs got home from school we made Greek yogurt parfaits then headed out for a sloppy, slushy walk.

We traipsed under canopy blue and I felt that little feeling of Spring. I tried not to feel it, I know it's not real. But what I heard was the drip-drop of melting snow and what I saw was life - the life  I'm apart of, the one made just for me.

Neighbors were out in sweatshirts and hats. The guy a few doors down lifted his hand in a wave, no smile, just a moment of recognition and the camaraderie of unexpected sunshine. He kept watching after we had passed. He thinks we have nothing in common. He's wrong.



We walked slow then slower, bending down to see what needed seeing. Most of what I needed to see wasn't "down" at all. It was around. Beside. Over. It was every house that sees me as a stranger. It was the fine thread of hope that Spring might change things.



 

This is the season of new beginnings, right? I can't be the only one feeling the pull.

I'd like to get a little healthier. I've started doing a little time on the treadmill, and by a little, I mean a little. I walk-jog-run (listed in order of duration) just one mile. No more. No less. I hate it. I hate every minute of it. Why am I such a stinking wimp? Why can't I be a cool running mom with hot pink shoes? Why do I sometimes run in my pajama pants? How can 14 minutes feel like a torturous lifetime?

I took a wash cloth down today to cover the clock, because if I don't cover it, all I do is stare. A watched treadmill never boils. Whatever.

Just as I realized a year ago that I desperately missed reading and needed more books in my life, I'm realizing now that I need more food in my life.

Stay with me.

I don't need more food on my plate. I need it in my life. I need to woo my lost love. I need to rekindle the romance between me, my weekly menu plan, and dinnertime.

Who's to say that Grocery Store Confessional won't pop up in the process?
Who's to say.

But what I want more than anything is to feel even more of this wonder full life. I want to memorize its contours in my hand. I want to know its weight, trust its worth. I want to remember it in the dark.

I want to laugh when I want to, cry when I need to, believe in the deep-down that every moment was crafted for me.

I'm thinking a life fully lived, fully loved, spills out over its edges. That's what I want.

Today, it began with a scooter.

Make that three.

It began with taking the time to walk the improbable fault-line between seasons in my sweats, not caring for a second about anything other than everything in arm's reach.