Monday, August 15, 2016

Routine


I usually long for routine and school to begin this time of year anyway. By mid-August, the girls begin bickering, the heat and humidity begin to weigh heavy on my shoulders, and an absence of structure breeds a lack of motivation and numerous slothful ways called relaxation earlier in the summer at the cabin on the lake but now are the harbingers of shame should they continue much longer.

My yearning for routine has turned into an ache this summer. With the move, new schools at hand for the girls, including academic calendars that start weeks earlier than ever before, and extreme heat warnings which turn the tables on us -- we now hibernate inside in the summer just as we did up north when wind chill warnings kept us in the house in January -- routine has been hard to come by.

I know that as you get older they say that changing up your routine is good for brain health, and I buy into that advice. I also know that I may have a propensity for routine and order given my personality. No one loves to organize more than I do! And, I remember some of the routines of my childhood fondly. 

I am not talking about the routines around holidays or special occasions, but the routines that revolved around daily life like playing at the playground on Saturday mornings as my dad played soccer nearby and then took us for soft serve at Boy Blue on the way home. The way we listened to radio plays, lying on the living room floor on Saturday nights (so good for the imagination!).  The way my dad would slather butter and honey on a thick slice of German rye bread as a treat to help me sleep on the nights when my anxious ways kept me up. Or, the way my mom made paper bags full of homemade popcorn slathered in butter and salt to eat the one time each year that The Sound of Music or The Wizard of Oz played on television. (As I write, I am reminded why I am such a foodie!)

I am looking forward to building back some routine in our family life and also adding in some new routines as family life evolves with teenagers turning into young adults, building lives of their own. And, even as my usual level of routine continues to evade me, I appreciate the fact that the cat is leading the way back to a regimen. Cats are nothing if not bound by routine. Freddy has an internal clock that marks mealtime and bedtime so precisely that an alarm clock is simply not necessary.

Only ten days into living in our new home, Freddy has begun a morning routine, pulling me along unwittingly. After I wake, I feed him while I wait for the water to heat in the kettle. I make a cup of coffee and head to my desk. He tags along and heads straight for his cat bed that sits between my computer screen and the large window. He licks himself clean after breakfast and settles in to sleep the morning away with the sun glistening off of his fur.

I sip slowly and appreciate the view. Then, I turn to my email, to-do-list, and writing with companion at hand and see life slowly unfolding. Routines are slowly building. Life is good.


The Cat
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The cat
                              licks its paw and
        lies down in
                            the bookshelf nook
                                                                 She
                                    can lie in a
                                              sphinx position
        without moving for so
                                         many hours
and then turn her head
                                to me and
                                          rise and stretch
       and turn
                       her back to me and
              lick her paw again as if
                                    no real time had passed
                     It hasn't
                                    and she is the sphinx with
                        all the time in the world
                                             in the desert of her time
             The cat
                    knows where flies die
                               sees ghosts in motes of air
                                                   and shadows in sunbeams
She hears
                  the music of the spheres and
       the hum in the wires of houses
                           and the hum of the universe
             in interstellar spaces
                                                      but
                prefers domestic places
                             and the hum of the heater


Monday, August 8, 2016

Rain

"Oh, lord of life, send my roots rain." Gerard Manley Hopkins

I was completely exhausted, 100% beat, and still couldn't sleep. After the arrival of the semi filled with our belongings, a foursome of the most appreciated movers efficiently unloaded our entire household not without a glitch or two of course. After making a small dent in the disarray primarily by setting up our beds, we collapsed the first night in our new home, and I lay awake.

I couldn't turn my mind off and two things were plaguing me. First, I was thinking of all the work ahead: the stacks of boxes in every room filled with individually paper-wrapped items that would need to be undone and placed accordingly. Naturally, our new home isn't set up exactly as the previous one and the placement of everything would take time. Furniture needed to be positioned. The kitchen needed to be organized. Storage over four floors (oh, those stairs!) required thought. Like a computer running an algorithm, I was working over the puzzle and wouldn't rest until I knew where to begin and had an initial plan in place.

Further, I was adjusting to the noises of the house. The moans and creaks unique to this abode. The double click of the air conditioning as it turned on like the sound of the small metal clickers we had as children: one click as you pushed the metal in with your thumb and forefinger and one click as you released your grip. The sound of the floorboards as my younger daughter paddled down the hallway to the bathroom in the middle of the night. The incredible cacophony of insect life outside reminiscent of the hot, humid late summers in the Midwest as I slept beneath the screened window as a child. Here, our climate controlled house is sealed shut and yet the racket could convince you otherwise.

The cat was as unsettled as I was. He was still in shock from the long car ride in his carrier, the noise of the move, and the lack of familiarity in his new home. Freddy likes to imagine he is master of his domain, but he is a scaredy-cat to his very core. As my older daughter astutely observed, when it comes to his flight or fight response, Freddy is all flight. All night, he paced throughout the house, making his displeasure with us known and exploring every nook and cranny. As daylight broke, the birds added to the din outside. The night was shot.

Yet, here I find myself a few mornings later, writing at my new work station which is so very inspiring (more on that later). Stacks of boxes still line up behind me, requiring attention, but I made a real cup of coffee in the kitchen this morning, a notable accomplishment. I work with Freddy asleep on my desk as companion. He is settling in, too. Living the academic life, I have moved over 20 times in my lifetime, and it doesn't get any easier midlife. So, despite the challenges, we simply increase the amount of help we get to meet them. Why? So that we may continue to thrive and grow by sending our roots wide and deep. Thus, we are nourished and quenched internally just as the earth is soaked with rain outside this very morn.