The Intruder

This morning, I had my first cup of coffee in my garden chair as I read to the middle of MEMORIES OF RUNNING, by Bruce McLarty. I was up, oh so very early, and brewed the cup and took to the seat at first light. I traveled with Smithy to New York and listened to the old artist lady describing Art and Light and repeating, "That's Omega there. That's God's work," as she wandered off. I was engrossed in good writing, the good use of good words, and each time I'd reach for a big swig, I'd notice pieces of lovely in my garden.

The easing of the paint along the arm of my chair.

My pal's resting position.

The slight turning of the rose petal.

 The shifting light from the candle in the blue-gray of morning.








And then: the intruder.

The sun.

I don't think I've ever been unhappy with the sun peeking over the rooftop. But there it was with all it's light and warmth, beckoning for the day to start in earnest. But it had started, in the perfect way, with the chair and the book and the dog and the coffee and the time. There it was. Time.

I recognize I'm pushed to consider how I will spend my time this day. It look's like its time to fill my list with things (like working) that must be done. But this morning, in the early moments, I felt the fullness of what my soul desires: transporting words, the stillness of time, the coolness of morning, the beauty of Creation right in my yard, the work of a little black spider at his web within arms length and, without working to connect to God in scripture or text, just being in the midst of all He's granted, I am filled.

I'm even accepting the trickling light the intruder supplies as it dancing across my table.

Morning is changeable, I realize. The cool, the warmth, now the breeze. The waking birds are coming to peruse and a barking dog around the block is joining.

It must be time for a second cup.

The Ceiling of Complexity

I'm learning a little about this concept - the Ceiling of Complexity. From what I've read, it has to do with the number of things we have on our plate and the way they match up with our strengths. When we hit the ceiling, it's often related to a) too much and b) a weakness. In business, we're best working in our strengths and delegating the weaknesses.
At home, if you're the wife or mother, you just keep folding laundry and reorganizing the _______ (insert your favorite, pantry? refrig? sock drawer? car, where your children leave their socks?)
So, my regretful frustration (and attendant crabbiness) is due to the ceiling. I need to hire an underling to clean up after my kitchen extravaganzas and to pick up and to make coffee when I just need to work in my strengths: writing, painting, blogging, decorating the mantle, gardening. Ah ha!
There's something here, I don't know quite what yet, but it begins with addressing what I've put on my plate.
Today it includes a little garage clean out.

How's your ceiling?

A very Big Rush

My youngest asked me in passing a few days ago, if we could get tickets to see Big Time Rush in concert.

I have to say, the fact that the TV show boy band was touring (or really sang on stages) was nowhere near my radar. But we were alone for the weekend and absolutely free on Friday night. So, (with visions of boy bands gone by dancing in my head) my fingers walked the internet and I found a pair of tickets.

There are many joys in momhood and one of the big ones is truly surprising your kiddos. I downloaded the tickets and put them in my laptop bag. And then I waited for the ceremonial asking of the question - again.

A day later, she came through. We were ending our day when she said with just a hint of a whine in her voice,  "Mom, is there any way we could look on Craig's List or anything for tickets, I'd really like to see the concert." I asked her when the concert was - she said Friday - I handed her the pages I'd printed out, saying, "Read this, I think it says something about Saturday." It took her a few minutes to connect to what the pages were and then the shocked smile and "REALLY? WE'RE GOING?" Oh, yes.

So we went. We had fabulous orchestra seats amongst 12,000 screaming girls, parents and the occasional kid brother. It was great fun. The boys work really hard and put on a great show. They're well choreographed, but casual and they have tons of personality. But enough about them, the real show was watching my girlie as she kept mentally pinching herself, video taping with her iPod, singing with the boys and saying "Thank you Mommie, this is the best!" We sang along, jumped and clapped to our delight.

A couple of times it really struck me - these moments are few and far between and mark her stepping into the hallway of the teen years. Gratefully, we took the step together. My ears are ringing but as you might imagine, if was quite the rush.

Now, it's off to download the new song and the wallpaper.