Walking In the Mist

It's that time of year again.

The finishing season. Finishing school. Finishing sports and ballet and art. We're finishing. We've got end-of-grade testing and tournaments. Recitals and gallery shows. We are anxious to finish. Anxious for summer. For a break.

But finishing is hard and busy work. The week is planned to the minute. So of course, in that typical life way, the van needed a tire replaced. I don't have time to replace tires. I don't have time for a blow-out either. (Changing tires is one of the things I'll add to the list of things to learn to do on my own, later. I don't have time right now.) But a nice man at church pointed out that the white showing through the tires was a sure sign of an impending blow-out. So I begrudgingly took the car to the mechanic and, of course, it was going to take all morning. I did everything I could from home. Then I started pacing. I'm not in a good spot in life for pacing. If I pace I start to think about how I want to be with my sister to comfort her in a hard time. Or I go to the angry or sad place of my current lonely, life-altering predicament. Pacing is no good, not only for my mind but also because I have so many errands to run to help with the finishing.

Just as I was getting good and worked up, it started misting. I love mist. I stopped to watch as it drizzled slowly down the windows. That's when the mechanic called to say the van was ready. For a minute, I contemplating calling a friend for a ride. Then I grabbed my purse and left. I walked. I walked in the mist until I was soaked through and the pacing had melted away. It was gray and cool, and I'm sure I looked a bit crazy. But it was so wonderfully perfect.

Now I can finish the finishing with a properly fitted vehicle. And a properly misted soul.

Strawberries For Jam

Three berry

Four berry
Hayberry
Strawberry

Finger and pawberry
My berry, your berry

Strawberry ponies
Strawberry lambs
Dancing in meadows
Of strawberry Jam

-from Jamberry by Bruce Degen

It's strawberry season! So we took our annual trip to the strawberry patch. Lot's of strawberries were picked. Strawberries for jam. Strawberries for strawberry shortcake. Strawberry milkshakes. Strawberry pie. Strawberries and cream. And just plain, sweet strawberries piled high in a bowl and eaten while hammock swinging in a nice spring breeze.

And The Rest Is A Muddle

Other than the ducks and the fish, and visiting with family, the trip was a muddled bunch of rest and down time.

The kids learned that when you're stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do, you have to make your own fun. Like flying down hill in a wagon until you crash into the grass at the bottom. The hills kept getting higher and the crashes harder throughout the week, but they never tired of it. For five days straight they crashed wagons and came home with the bumps to prove it. It was a satisfying, pure kind of fun. The sort of thing only kids could think up.


We also stretched our imaginations. A go-kart was built (to save the wagons, I believe). And, as I mentioned, we came up with hundreds of future children's books about the various careers of ducks.

It wasn't all play. We did a whole lot of resting and snuggling. Mostly snuggling. With that many people crammed into one small cabin, I wouldn't call it a napping house. But it's a good snuggling house. Mom and daughter snuggling. Cousin snuggling. Sister snuggling. And grandma snuggling. All important for a well balanced mental state.


And finally there was a lot of exploring. Exploring nature. Exploring the future town of my sister and brother-in-law. Exploring what grows. Exploring great-grandmas old shed for treasure. Exploring my heart. We all needed to do some exploring. It's good for body, mind, and spirit.

And that was our muddled bit of rest. It was a wonderful break from our normal. And we loved sharing it with people we love and who love us. Thanks for the visit. Thanks for the hospitality. Thanks for the rest.