The Summer Stack

Every year, as my semester and boys' school year winds down, I start to get antsy.  Twitchy.  Ready to cast off all of the schedules, responsibilities, and the hurly burly of the academic year and get immersed in some real thinking.  I envision long, lazy days filled with cool drinks and warm breezes and lots of lounging in a chair with piles and piles of books.  It's time to reset, recharge, get inspired, and escape into stories that are not my own.  Books and words are a balm for my soul that gets neglected in the rush rush hurry hurry of the other seasons of the year.  Summer:  my time for reading, relaxing, and restoration before the next season of crazy. Sigh.

Somehow, I don't think this dream of mine is going to work out.

Because, have you met my boys?

20140603-182023-66023621.jpg

And did I happen to mention that I just moved?

unpacking

To a farm?

quartz hill

With lots of hay to be cut and a crop to be planted and no farmer to be found?

farmer landon

And, since you were wondering, my oldest just asked if I knew where his toothbrush was. Because HE HASN'T SEEN IT SINCE WE MOVED.  Well over a week ago.  AND HE JUST DECIDED TO MENTION IT NOW.  Which means, of course, that one hasn't been USED since at least then.

Can I get an eewwwwwww?

Sigh.

So, it looks like there is not going to be much slowing down to contemplate, recharge, and reflect. Not with all these muddy souls, dirty teeth, and boxes pleading to be unpacked.  There will be no completeimmersion. But, there will be flirtations and dalliances with books. . . stolen little moments of bliss, when I will be wantonly unfaithful to all of the unpacking that needs to be done.

To that end, I may not have a farming plan yet, but I have a summer escape plan.

I'm going to start here.

nesting house

And then work my way through these.

book stack

Ambitious?  Yes.  Unlikely?  Certainly.  It's certainly a miracle that these were found in the mess that is this house.  And, despite all of the other responsibilities in my life, I contend that there's a greater likelihood that I will plow through this stack than I will actually get my three new fields plowed and planted.

Sigh.

Happy (illicit) reading.

Gasping for Air

"Reading is my inhale. Writing is my exhale."  Glennon Melton

This summer I read like a drowning woman, desperate to devour as much as I could before the real world commenced and school schedules dictated and sports dominated and logistics and administrivia consumed my increasingly addled brain. Throughout this chilly, wet summer, I inhaled, in gulps, quickly, sharply, nearly hyperventilating, in shallow bursts and with surprising speed. There was so much reading to do in such a short amount of time, and since I was ill for quite a bit of the summer, the activity that required the least amount of creative or physical exertion won out.  So reading it was.

But it hurts my chest, all this inhaling without an exhale.  There's a reason they go together, after all.  But in truth, the more time that passes, the more afraid I am to exhale these thoughts and ideas.  I've been holding my breath for so long, (since July, but who's counting?), and I feel as though I've forgotten how to release.  Where do I start?  Which book?  Which story?  Which moment?   

Now August has melted into September and I've (strangely, for me) already decorated for fall.  And still nothing.  I write in my head every day but the aforementioned busy-ness of life, as well as some serious writer's block, (and I'm not gonna lie, a renewed yoga obsession), has prevented me from sitting down and writing.  And in truth, I've been sick and the family has been sick and school has started for the three bigs and I'm teaching a new class at the university and the baby has some scary medical issues and I have been cold afraid to write, to be exposed, and to  feel even more vulnerable than I already do.  So.  There it is.

This space, while sitting and gathering dust, has called to me in louder and louder tones as the air has cooled and I've lurched into a new season.  Scared or not, blocked or not, I need to spend time here.  Because for me, and I know for many others, I don't really know what I think until I write it.

The exhale is long overdue.

And I'm ready to stop holding my breath.