I appreciate the leg cramps that awoke me at 4:30 this morning. I appreciate the cool air, jungle of bird calls, meditation, and sunrise that followed. Waking in a room packed with my sleeping family, I see clearly my need for solitude. My beloved grandmother has been with us for one week, halfway through her time with us. She accompanies us on all our daily tasks and tidbits so she won't miss a moment of our lives. My days are filled with preparing three nourishing, filling meals a day, to stuff my grandma "like a Thanksgiving turkey", as I tell her. When she gains enough weight, her doctor will give her permission to exercise and visit friends more than once each week. Between meals, laundry, and other details, we sit down to play her favorite card game.
Last night I stepped outside, following my grandmother and children. I saw the wilting strawberry patch I'd transplanted just before her arrival. My dry, weedy garden sat in wait. I saw the berry and rose bushes that may have passed in the last warm week. I saw the pile of sticks I've been meaning to cut. So I gently stepped into tending my plot of earth. And that felt so good. As my grandmother contentedly watched my children swing and me cut tree trimmings, I thought of how simple it can be to tend to myself while others' needs are met. Nature allows us to feel such abundance as we step out into simplicity. My relationship with my grandmother is so much simpler than with my mother. I take note of this thought and move back into my love for my garden. In some ways, this garden reflects my own self-care. It has been a while since I've taken the time to tend this garden. The bees have been loving all my neglected, flowering vegetables.
So now rising out of bed as the sun peaks over the mountain feels really good. There is sacred solitude in this moment. There is simplicity in taking a moment (or several of them) to connect with myself, to step back in appreciation of the fullness of this life, and to seize this moment in time for my own solitude. I see that this fullness in life will shift and I will have more moments of balance and solitude. I appreciate waking early, breathing, reflecting, and stepping out of this busy routine and into the simplicity of the garden.
Last night I stepped outside, following my grandmother and children. I saw the wilting strawberry patch I'd transplanted just before her arrival. My dry, weedy garden sat in wait. I saw the berry and rose bushes that may have passed in the last warm week. I saw the pile of sticks I've been meaning to cut. So I gently stepped into tending my plot of earth. And that felt so good. As my grandmother contentedly watched my children swing and me cut tree trimmings, I thought of how simple it can be to tend to myself while others' needs are met. Nature allows us to feel such abundance as we step out into simplicity. My relationship with my grandmother is so much simpler than with my mother. I take note of this thought and move back into my love for my garden. In some ways, this garden reflects my own self-care. It has been a while since I've taken the time to tend this garden. The bees have been loving all my neglected, flowering vegetables.
So now rising out of bed as the sun peaks over the mountain feels really good. There is sacred solitude in this moment. There is simplicity in taking a moment (or several of them) to connect with myself, to step back in appreciation of the fullness of this life, and to seize this moment in time for my own solitude. I see that this fullness in life will shift and I will have more moments of balance and solitude. I appreciate waking early, breathing, reflecting, and stepping out of this busy routine and into the simplicity of the garden.
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