Noticing what really matters
You probably remember that old idea that you only notice how many women are pregnant when you are pregnant. Well, I began to think about that and while it may be true about pregnancy, noticing things has a definite relationship to your own status.
First of all, I am not pregnant. Let’s get that out of the way. But, I do notice things.
I notice all of the things that need fixing around the house, the drapes that need shortening, the kitchen that needs deep cleaning, especially the oven, the overstuffed linen closet that has enough pillow cases for a hospital. There are the empty wine bottles that need to have their labels removed…how I hate doing that job!
And then there is the yard.
I stand at the window looking out at hours of work that I would gladly do and…well, first it’s too muddy. You know, the slippery slide kind of grass and flower beds that look enticing to the gardener, but are an injury and a lot of laundry in the waiting. Then, again, at least today it’s too cold. The sun is out, but it is 35 degrees. Too cold for this babe.
And the front porch, a place that I love but also a place that has accumulated layers of road grime that needs intensive attention before the fantasies of summer and ice tea can be realized.
While mud is no problem here, having a hose hooked up is necessary and with the cold temperatures threaten freezing water in the hose. We’ll wait until we are on the cusp of summer to clean here.
I’m noticing that it’s what travel agents call a “shoulder season,” not winter and not spring but a mix.
If we use the biological term of an “edge,” we are on the edge of spring, heralded by the daffodils that are up and blooming in my side yard, the increasing buds on the crabapple and the dogwood, the beginnings of a good crop of rhubarb and the dream of pies but also of cool nights where sleep is easy, of sweaters without jackets and more sun than clouds.
I’m also noticing that my wardrobe is rather off and on. Sweaters one day and cropped pants the next. Windows shut against the harsh wind today, but tomorrow, they might be open to the sun and warmer air.
I’m noticing a gigantic cardboard house in our family room, partially colored with markers and crayons awaiting the next visitation of our grandsons. I notice too, that among the adult chairs and sofa there are boxes of legos, a space ship snatched from a yard sale by our son for his nephews, a race track for tiny cars and stacks of albums chronicling the young lives of two little boys in the grandparents’ house.
I notice so many books in bookcases, stacked on the coffee table and the floor next to the sofa, all testimony to ideas, to escape, to learning and the recipes that I’ve cut out or printed, the creations that promise gustatory delights that never make it beyond the page, things that take minutes, hours, days of time, but now, that time is marked differently, time that notices the joy of family, the intimacy of children’s laughter of eager requests to play in the park…noticing what really matters.
