Trying to Avoid a Crash

Summer is definitely upon us, and this is one of those busy summers that comes around every couple years.  Last summer was beautiful and adventurous and full of friends and mojitos and space to slow down if we wanted to.  I dug a big pile of bricks out of the yard and used them to edge the garden, I weeded and I cleaned.  I stayed out until 4:00 and 5:00 in the morning caught up in late-night, lounge on the couch, doze off and wake up conversations.

This summer promises to flash before my eyes, swept up in a whirlwind of weddings and scheduled family weekends and reunions and...done.  Right now stands a chance of being the worst of it, with twice-a-week physical therapy, busy times at work, and some ill-planned trips out of town.  We returned from Memorial Day weekend on Monday night, only to leave this Thursday for another weekend away.

I haven't felt an exhaustion this bottomless since October, when I was part of a dreadfully understaffed team putting on our first-ever gala event at work.  I keep wishing for something to grab hold of me and pull me safely to the other side.  Now, like then, I'm not sure how I'm going to make it to the next foothold: next Friday.  A free weekend.

Through all of this, though, I've been making a concerted effort to have restful time in the evenings. Tonight I came home from a nine and a half hour work day and promptly devised a way I could avoid doing laundry until Monday.  Then I played the piano for a while, wrote in my notebook, washed the dishes.  All things that enforce a slowing down.  An even pace.

Somehow, through that dedication to not running myself completely into the ground, I've managed to get into editing full swing.  Chapters are getting chewed up, expanded, soon even added.

It's so helpful to slow down at times like this, remember what makes me feel most satisfied about my life, and stop to do something that gives me space to think.

Speaking of pianos, great news!  Mine arrived safe and sound about a week ago, and it looks beautiful in my dining room.  It's anywhere between 80 and 100 years old, and I've played it every day (assuming I've been home) since it arrived.  This piano has been in my family since at least the 1930s, broken for most of that time, and just now fixed!  Ironically, it just took someone like me saying "I want to fix this," because the repair itself was surprisingly inexpensive.