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Even after years and years of experiencing visits to my parents, it remains surprising to me how the time is sucked out of each day. I reach bedtime typically tired, without an accomplishment or a creative act that I could ordinarily count on at home.  This is not to say I don’t “do” things.  The other day, for instance, I helped pull together dinner (some leftovers I had made previously and then some sautéed greens and onions) followed by making a batch of Rice Krispie treats that my dad loves AND preparing the meat and veggies I would use the next day for a crock pot dish.

My sole nod to some creation was a simple arrangement of peonies and large leafed hosta.

I’d written almost nothing including a blog post, since I got to my parent’s .

There have been writers, most notably writer/researcher……  who’ve written about ‘flow” — that state of being entirely present that athletes and others achieve when time becomes both quick and slow.  Perhaps that is what I’m experiencing — being so in the moment.  But that doesn’t exactly explain how I lose the time (not to mention inspiration) for writing.  I do feel like I’m constantly moving, caretaking in a way — so there’s not so much me (or introvert recharge time).

My return home brought catch up activities (since Tuesday night) but I have managed to write some and engage in other solitary pursuits. My parents are both extraverted personalities and they have never understood the retiring parts of my nature. Perhaps the two of them together take up too much space, take up too much oxygen, that the time for expression is indeed sucked dry.

I did manage, a few things including this poem:

Oatmeal, steel-cut
check
sauteed apples with nuts
check
Coffee, two kinds
check
Raisin toast
check

Newspaper
check

Sit down then all,
five of us at table, four
intending to wake up slowly
noses buried in words

Check

The fifth announces
“if you’re all going to be reading
I’ll just leave and eat my breakfast
elsewhere”

What does it matter?
but that one holds sway
til two other people slide
their reading away
inveigled by the lark
to make their own song silent

check/mate

they must wait
to check it later.

 

The bathroom project continues, the weather beckons and I aim to make up for lost time. Have a great weekend.

Linda

New green skirt - gosh it's bright out here!

New green skirt – gosh it’s bright out here!

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